Morbidus
by Addy Ricin
Summary: This isn't a story about right and wrong, about good versus evil. This is a story about convictions and where they take you should you adhere to them. It's a story about the things that change you and why who you are goes far beyond the things you do.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The Barries, though one of the oldest pureblooded wizarding families in Britain, had never been among the most influential ones. Whether it was their strange Scottish traditions or tendency to drink more than was appropriate that kept them apart from the rest no one knew, but lately it had become clear to all that the isolation had grown deeper and not all looked favorably on this recent development. One of their youngest had reportedly moved out of the Barrie castle a few years before, a strange exception from the family's tradition of keeping its members safe inside the castle walls until they got married. No invitation to a wedding had been sent out, however, and this was more than enough to raise a sea of rumors among those who still cherished the more traditional way of life.

The previous time the wizarding world had been at war the Barries had been able to maintain an air of impartiality, which most families would have done almost anything to achieve. To most people their means to keeping up this neutrality were unknown, though many kept whispering to each other tales about bribery and promises the family had made to all parties involved. Some were sure the so-called Barrie impartiality was merely a façade, and that the castle's vast cellars had been filled with You-Know-Who's opponents, who the Barries had quickly released and bribed silent after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been defeated. No one said this to the Barries, for obvious reasons.

Draco Malfoy was one of the people who really knew what was behind the Barrie impartiality, and it had nothing to do with money or promises of any kind. The thing that kept the Barries from participating, even more than their reluctance to do so, were the stereotypical characteristics the members of the family all seemed to possess. An average Barrie was a 6'2" male with the most distasteful reddish hair, and a lack of intelligence as well as the ability to restrain himself from women and alcohol. On top of that, they all had problems with authorities and were well known for not taking orders from anyone than the head of their own family. Having the Barries on their side would only resort to trouble, but having the family against them could resort to something much worse. Unlike most pureblooded families the Barries favored large quantities of children and their ability to breed like rabbits was the subject of many jokes all over England.

To the Malfoys the Barries had no other significance than their existence as an old, widely spread pureblooded family. The value of the Barrie blood was irreplaceable, especially during the times they were living, they needed allies, but more than that, they needed pure blood and the magnificent power that was a given with it. The Malfoy family was known for its highest status in the wizarding society and it had not been achieved effortlessly. The family had always known to keep their relationships with other pureblooded families as cherished as possible.

When Draco looked at the house that rose out of the flat landscape like a lonely tooth in the mouth of an old man, he found it hard to believe it belonged to any pureblooded wizard. It was a typical two-storey farmhouse, roughly built and painted unevenly with a bright red colour. Nearby stood two unpainted buildings for the animals, and vast fields spread out to the edge of the horizon all over this only sign of human habitat they had encountered for miles. There was something very lonely about it all, and some aspect of it made Draco's lips pout in a displeased manner. It was all very… un-magical.

He could hear his father sneer as he passed him, starting to take quick steps toward the house and the white door gleaming in the weak sunlight of that April morning.

"Do you suppose there will be trouble?" Draco asked and his father sneered again.

"We shall see."

The pale boy followed the narrow pathway in front of him with his eyes and thought. He had nothing against the Barries, nor did he have anything for them. The few times their families had encountered one another the Barries had appeared as they usually did; ill- mannered and bordering on incomprehensible.

"Did you meet with the head of the family?"

His father nodded. "They want to remain impartial," he snorted, sounding more than a little loathing.

Draco wasn't surprised. "Do they have that option?"

There was a small silence. "For now," the man finally said as they reached a small gate that led to the yard.

They crossed the garden silently; their faint footsteps scared the hen from the path as they made their way to the entrance. Draco placed three loud knocks on the door with his gloved hand and stepped back. Not a sound could be heard from behind those thick walls for a long time, so long that the two turned to look at each other passing a wordless question between them. Finally, the house came alive with the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opened inward to a warmly lit kitchen. A young man with bright red hair in ragged robes held the door open. He was taller than either one of them and seemed to possess almost all of the usual Barrie characteristics.

"Daniel," the older of the men said and nodded politely. Daniel Barrie's face grew pale beneath the flour and he cleared his throat before speaking.

"Lucius," the man pronounced in his strange Scottish accent and gained more colour to his face as he turned his eyes on Draco looking extremely surprised, "this yer wean then?"

Draco nodded but decided it best to leave the greetings at that. He knew better than to start a discussion with a Barrie. Their way of speaking knotted his ears in no time.

"Yes, this is Draco." The man made the introduction and Daniel's eyes lit up.

"Didna ken he wis so auld awready," he laughed a little nervously. "The last time eh seen ye ye wis only a wee bairn."

"Yes, it's been a long time."

Draco heard the impatience in his father's tone and straightened his posture, preparing to enter the house.

"Too lang if yer askin me," the man laughed again, sounding even more nervous this time. He was still leaning to the doorframe, blocking the entrance with his body. "Eh remember in the auld days hou aw families used tae be spendin a lot mair time thegither. Thare's nane o that naw mair. The guid auld days, ye ken?"

The pale man nodded. "Things can always be improved," he reminded the other one calmly.

"Ye reckon?" Daniel asked, but spoke again before an answer could be given to the question. "Come on in, oot o the cauld. Ye'll freeze yer heids."

He moved to let them in, beating the flour off his robes as he did. Draco looked around, taking in all the details that seemed more than a little out of place in the house of this so-called bachelor. His eyes searched the room, noting not only the two loaves of bread waiting by the baking oven, but also the fresh flowers in a vase on the table, and the brass star of six points on the wall above the door.

"Rather strange for a Barrie to move out unaccompanied," Lucius said, gazing around the kitchen lazily.

"Eh like me peace an quiet," Daniel replied, clearing his throat again. "Havin a load o brothers can dae that tae ye."

"Hmm," the blond man looked at the star on the wall and his lips tightened, "perhaps you'd like to show us the rest of the house."

Draco's brain registered the tone; it wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. Daniel seemed to notice it too, and the colour that had risen to his cheeks faded again.

"Awrite," he muttered, sounding so guilty Draco wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. The boy closed his eyes for a moment before following the two out of the kitchen with his teeth clenched. The house was silent, so silent it made Draco expect a sound to emerge.

"A rather large house for one person," his father commented, looking up at the rafters calculatingly. This time Daniel kept quiet until the other man asked about the price of the property.

"Eh did aw the biggin meself," he said rather proudly. "If ye want a proper house, ye better big it yerself, eh awways think."

Draco looked around as they walked on, and if he had been anyone else he could have almost admired the way the house screamed out "home" louder than any place he had ever been in. There were no cold surfaces anywhere, just warm wood, fireplaces and armchairs that looked like you could sink so deep in them you might never be able to get to your feet again. The floorboards creaked under their feet, and even that felt like a built-in feature, just put in place to make whoever walked there feel as welcome as possible.

Then, they came to the stairs. From outside the little farm house looked like a bungalow with a tiny attic, not a two-storey house as it now seemed to turn out to be.

As soon as Draco saw them his eyes shot up at Daniel just in time to see his face grow paler as he glanced upstairs himself. Before anyone could say a word, the boy started ascending the stairs, knowing his father's bad leg wouldn't be able to take the climbing. He blocked all thoughts of all the other possible reasons why he was now climbing up the stairs, leaving the two behind. He could hear Daniel clearing his throat again, and this time it sounded a lot louder, like a warning of some kind. Draco held back his tongue as he heard the blatant gesture. Daniel Barrie was turning out to be one of the most ill considered people he had had the chance to come across.

He came to a landing, and continued upward. He could hear the other two keeping up a conversation. The voices were growing faint, but he could still hear Daniel's absent replies to his father's questions. By the time he reached the second floor, the sounds had become muffled but he wasn't sure if it was because of the solid wood between them, or the strange and ominous feeling that was taking over him.

He looked to his right, and saw the end of a hallway. Behind him on his right was a narrow door. He walked to it, and opened it to a bathroom. Two sinks, a seat and a bathtub behind a shower curtain. Draco looked at the deep blue shades of it, and the colourful fish that dotted its surface here and there. He bit his lip, and closed the door.

He followed the hallway to its other end where he found three doors, two on his left and one on his right. He could hear his own breathing very clearly now, the air seemed heavy and dusty, and the faint light falling in from the window at the end of the hallway decorated the walls with a sickly yellow. Draco took a deep breath, and opened the first door on his left, wanting to avoid what he knew was the largest bedroom as long as possible.

He stepped in the room, took one look at the light blue walls, the hand-carved cot and the mobile with animals above it, and closed the door immediately, heaving in large portions of air as he did. He pressed his cold hand on his face for a second before moving on to the next room, expecting nothing less than the pale shades of red and the crib he found. He stepped further in, making an effort by walking to a closet and opening its door, only to find piles of nappies and burping cloths neatly stacked to the shelves. With a few hurried steps, he was back in the hallway.

The third door loomed in front of him, its dark surface seemed to radiate the careful consideration and love its maker had intended to carve in it and guessing what was on the other side of it only enhanced the feeling. Draco stared at it for ten seconds he counted in his head, another five, and stepped forward, knowing exactly what he would find, but not knowing what he would do afterward.

The door swung open quietly, no one had even bothered to lock it.

From what Draco saw and remembered of the room it was very nice with a large tidily made bed in the middle. The floors were darker here, resorting to an air of intimacy that seemed to cover the room like a blanket. A large Victorian type wardrobe stood in the corner, and another brass star gleamed on the wall above the bed. Next to the bed were two cribs built from some sort of light wood, birch maybe, or aspen. All of this the boy noted in a very indifferent way, for the defiant stare of Mrs. Daniel Barrie kept his eyes in place like a charm.

Her eyes were dark brown, so dark when pointed to that threatening glare that they looked almost black. She wasn't English, that much was clear, and so was the fact that this woman had never even dreamt of doing magic. She had probably fallen for the man and married him, completely unaware of the world he irreversibly tied her to. She had probably never even imagined that starting a family with the man she loved could resort to this, her standing in her own bedroom with her toddler in her arms and the newborn twins in their pram asleep like angels, facing a young man who could kill them all with no more than two words. She probably didn't understand any of it, who Draco was and why he was there, and she was probably afraid of it all, but still she stood there, hand on the handle of the pram as if she was going to make a run for it. The toddler kept looking at his mother, and then at Draco like asking how to feel about all of it, and Draco felt his jaw clenching as he took a few steps in the room.

The features of the man from downstairs were drawn on the toddler's round face so clearly he recognized the little boy a Barrie even without the ghastly red hair and the pale blue eyes. Draco's eyes stayed glued to the child for a while. Seeing in his mind a similar mob of hair covered in blood he looked away quickly, feeling a familiar pressure in his throat. His gaze moved back to the woman, whose eyes narrowed threateningly.

Deciding it best for all of them for him to leave the room as swiftly as possible, Draco walked past them without giving them another glance, and opened the doors of the wardrobe, closing them almost immediately with two loud bangs. Quickly, he made a round in the bathroom before walking out and closing the door behind him.

As he descended the stairs, his mind was completely blank. What he had just done felt like something that had happened to someone else, a slightly disturbing anecdote he had heard from a friend. His hand slid along the wooden railing by the steps and the voices of Daniel and his father started to make sense again. He turned on the landing and met his father's eyes briefly before turning away and giving his head an almost invisible shake.

"Hou did ye like up the stair?" Daniel asked, his voice quivering barely enough for the boy to notice it.

"I'm sure it will be more impressive once it's properly furnished," Draco replied, and walked down the last bit of stairs. "If you ever need it, we're always interested in selling."

Daniel let out a high-pitched laugh. "Naw, yer bonnie furniture would be too guid for me humble wee hame."

Draco snorted quietly.

"Well, if you ever change your mind…" he sighed. Draco could see his father still looking at the stairs, and he knew what it all must seem like to him. Before anyone got the chance to blow the man's cover he shot Daniel a warning glance, the man was pale as a sheet now and some drops of perspiration had risen to his forehead.

"A cup o tea then for ye fine fowk?" he now asked, drawing Lucius' attention in an instant.

"No, thank you. We must be on our way," he refused and started walking towards the kitchen again.

"Ye sure? Got the breid an aw, fresh frae the oven an aw," Daniel kept asking and though the boy knew it was necessary, he wished the man would just let them leave.

"I have no doubts when it comes to your skills with baking, Daniel," the blond man said dryly, "but perhaps we should save it for another time."

Daniel laughed again, "Well, eh guess eh should get to wirk an aw. Havin a ferm is mair wirk than maist fowk ken. And eh dae it aw by masel maistly."

The older man snorted loudly, and walked out of the house. Draco gave Daniel another warning look, despising the gratitude in the man's eyes as well as his own weakness. Draining his mind clear of the flood of warnings and hateful comments the boy closed the white door behind him, and wished he'd never get a reason to go back.

His father was quiet as they walked away from the house, a cold wind blew from the east and the boy shivered absently under his light cloak. It was hard to tell from the man's silence whether he knew Draco had lied, or was just disappointed not to find anything. The silence continued for the entire mile from the farm to the point where they could finally Disapparate. Before returning to the castle, Draco glanced back at the direction of the house one more time, wondering if his decision would prove to make a difference.


	2. Chapter One Mortui Vivos Docent

Chapter One - Mortui vivos docent

The moment the cold water touched his back and shot through his spine like a razor, Draco woke up. One horrified gasp later he was under the surface, the murky water closed above him as his hazy mind tried to grasp hold of the situation to little avail, for the only things he could register were the cruel coldness of the water and his need to swim back to the surface for air. His legs started kicking instantly, and before he could even start worrying about the lack of oxygen in his lungs, his head emerged, coughing and gasping, from the freezing liquid below.

The water, though absolutely frigid, was many degrees warmer than the air of that night in early November, and feeling it Draco's body broke into violent shivers. His legs that were still kicking the water to keep him from sinking were turning numb even after those brief moments he had spent in the water, and the voice of reason in the back of his mind told him the same would eventually happen to his brain. Knowing he didn't have much time for rational thinking, Draco looked around, finding nothing but darkness all around him. The water he had accidentally swallowed had no salt in it, and he felt no current pushing his body, so he concluded he had to be in a lake.

The adrenaline, which moments before had taken over his body and helped him escape the watery abyss, started to wear out, and as it did, Draco was left with the growing concern for his own survival. The waves his body had set in motion splashed around him, but no other sound could be heard in the night. Draco turned his head in the hope of catching a distant light from the shore, but saw nothing, as if he'd gone blind in the water. His teeth clattered, and his cotton nightwear made staying on the surface increasingly difficult. As he had predicted already his mind was dulling from the cold, aggravated by the increasing messages of pain and discomfort his body was sending out.

His left hand made a dive into his pocket and he pulled out his wand, casting a ray of light bouncing off the waves effortlessly without a sound. He moved the light higher, it quivered on the water, still illuminating no sign of dry land in the distance. Draco gritted his teeth, lifting the wand above his head. The beam danced on the waves for a second longer, until it met a line of trees nearly half a mile away from where Draco had fallen in. The boy let out a sigh of relief, the light disappeared and he started swimming.

After a few yards, he stopped as he felt something else moving in the water below him. He straightened his body at once, casting another spell on the dark waves. He saw nothing, only heard a hasty splash that made him turn around just in time to see ripples disappearing into the waves. He wondered whether there was Grindylow in the lake, and how one actually fought them in the first place. He let the light of his wand die out again, keeping in mind the direction he was headed as he continued swimming. He kept his ears open for any other sound besides his own breathing, or the splattering of the water against his body as he moved smoothly through it.

After he had swum for what felt like an hour, a new sound broke the air so brutally it sent Draco's heart beating faster than it had done when he woke up to the water's frozen embrace. He had never heard a scream like that – it was like a howl of something too human to be an animal, and too beastly to be a person. The high screeching seemed to carry in the wind, bringing with it a message of resentment and carnage. Draco cringed and lifted his wand, turning in the water to see as much as possible, illuminating his surroundings once more. He saw nothing, but could feel something gliding through the waters beneath him again. He wondered if he should dive and try to see what it was, or just leave the creatures of the deep undisturbed, and carry on. Breathing more heavily than before, he presumed swimming, wondering how much longer he had to go.

The world around him fell silent again, and a light wind started to blow, bringing with it a delicate scent of pine trees. Draco shivered, feeling the cold air painfully on his face. Taking deep breaths hurt his lungs, and every now and then, his swimming was interrupted by loud bursts of coughing. He tried to muffle them down as much as possible, not wanting to drown out any other sound that might emerge – and more importantly, not to catch the attention of whatever was below the surface.

After another few yards, he suddenly felt his toes brush lightly against the slimy leaves of an underwater plant. Letting out a small sigh of relief, he allowed himself a further moment of light as his spell illuminated the shore that indeed wasn't far, albeit a bit further than he had imagined. He reached out his legs, wanting to feel the reassuring solidness of the pondweed under him, but no matter how low he tried, he couldn't find it anymore. Something slid past him, however, and he turned off his light.

As soon as the darkness fell around him again, he heard another scream, and this time the sound of blood thirst didn't pierce the night unaccompanied. The grinding screeching filled Draco's ears from all around him, and with panic instantly overwhelming him, the boy realised the sounds weren't coming from a distance – they were coming from the water below. Draco's heavy breathing turned into hysterical panting as he realised the reason he couldn't feel the pondweed more than once. He pulled his wand to the surface, lighting the tip of it again to see the water around him more clearly, expecting something to rise to the surface at any second. The howling continued getting louder and louder, until it felt like his head would explode from the sound alone - until suddenly, they stopped.

Without thinking twice, Draco started swimming faster than he had done so far. The light went out again, leaving him with an unpleasantly heightened hearing and a terrified mind that registered even his own gasping as something malicious that was following him in the deep. His hands pierced the water's icy surface separately, and his legs kicked the water behind him as fast as they could from the cold. In his anxious state, he swallowed a mouthful of water, the dirt of the lake stuck to his throat and he gagged. The long strands lingered on his lips, and as he brushed them away, he felt the slimy texture of something almost familiar between his fingers. He pulled the strings apart and as he realised what he was holding, his hysterical panting turned into disgusted, terrified whimpering, and he untangled it from his hands at once. In a flash, Draco understood what was in the lake below him, and how and why he had ended up there in the first place.

He started swimming, determined to make it to the shore in time. His mind kept trying to come up with curses, hexes and spells, anything that could be useful, but he seemed unable to focus a thought. He knew his body was now edging closer and closer to its limits, and that he barely had enough energy to swim to the shore in his state. The word "Inferi" kept echoing in his head, and though he knew what the word stood for, it still seemed to have no meaning to him. His incredulous mind was rebelling with the voice of reason that his panic tried hard to drown out.

Bony fingers buried in his arm and pulled him down so fast he didn't even have time for air. The wand that was still in his hand lit up, the dim light tried to penetrate the murky water in vain before dying out completely. Draco wrapped his hand tightly around the creature's wrist, but his yanking and pulling made no change to the grip he was in. More arms reached out from under him, he could feel them all over his body. His nails dug in the hands that were dragging him down, but the flesh peeled off the sinews and bones with no effect on its owner. The light from his wand pierced the water again, lingering on the distorted faces of the undead, their mindless and empty eyes and rotting corpses all turned to him in the muddy darkness. Their mouths were open in meaningless grins, and their hands were reaching out for him, for any part of him they could get a hold of. Draco's lungs were screaming for air. He lifted his wand the best he could, and wrapped them all in darkness again. The curse that warmed the water around him seconds later finally untangled the fingers from around him, and after a few strong kicks, his lungs and the air above came together in deep satisfaction.

One desperate gasp later, he was back under the water. The speed of the Inferi was inconceivable. Their bodies were closer now, and Draco could feel their decomposed faces pressed against his neck. His ears were filled with their sharp wailing and inhumanly rattling screams. A curse parted from his wand again, but to the wrong direction. They had his arms in their cold clutch, and this time they were clearly avoiding his wand. Draco fought with his body, struggling to loosen himself from their hungry grasp, but physical violence was useless against their rotten, controlled corpses. He sent out a curse after another, but they all pierced the water ineffectively. They were deep now, so deep the pressure of the water above him started to get very painful. Searching his brain for something, anything, Draco fixed his thoughts on the words he knew he had never uttered before. He could feel the force of the curse as it left his wand and disappeared in the freezing depths of the lake. He repeated the words in his mind again, concentrating on nothing else despite the undeniable presence of the Inferi.

The power of the curse was destructive. The water around them felt nearly boiling as the flames erupted from Draco's wand, wrapping them in a sudden heat wave. The hands flew off him as quickly as they had seized him, and Draco returned to the surface where the icy cold air felt crueller than he remembered. As soon as he had taken a deep breath, Draco started swimming, casting curses behind him as he did. Every now and then, he could feel a hand reaching for him, and every time it happened, he stopped to cast more curses in the water. The moment his feet found what they had been aching for in the muddy bottom of the lake, he let out an exasperated sigh of relief.

Too tired to stand, he half kicked half dragged himself to the shallows without bothering to give the lake another glance. It wasn't until he felt a strong pull on his ankle that he realised the Inferi had left the waters after him, and were now reaching for him, their mouths agape with fury as they tried to pull him back to the lake. Their shrill screaming had died out, and been replaced by loud, craving panting that made Draco feel nauseated. With the last bit of strength he had left, he pulled himself free, crawling to the safety of the cold grass near the wood line. His heavy breathing calmed down slowly as he lay there, shivering on the ground. He could smell the pine trees around him, and the smoky frost of autumn he had always been very fond of. It felt like those familiar scents were exactly what he needed to calm down, and recover from the lake's horrors. The Inferi stared after him with their hollow eyes, squealing with rage before returning to the depths of the murky waters.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

A familiar voice caught Draco's attention, and he turned on his stomach to face the one approaching. With a hint of annoyance, he saw Yaxley and two other Death Eaters walking toward him with wide grins on their faces.

"If it isn't young prince Malfoy," one of them sneered.

"And still alive, I see," Yaxley continued, sounding extremely disappointed.

Draco followed them with his eyes, too exhausted to make a sound.

"Is it just me, or is he looking a bit less dapper than usual?" one of them laughed, leaning to a tree nearby.

Yaxley snarled. "I wouldn't know. Can't really stand the look of them Malfoys," he grunted, picking up a stone and casting it forcefully in the lake.

Draco listened to their insults calmly, knowing that being alive was clearly response enough. The two others left quite soon after, following a nearly invisible path through the trees, but Yaxley stayed, giving Draco a kick in the ribs as he walked by.

"Useless scum," he said and spat at his feet. "Don't look so self-satisfied. No one gives a shit if you live or die, you worthless brat."

Draco felt something soft land on his back.

"Here. Put that on. And don't take all day," Yaxley snapped, and started walking away through the path as well.

Draco stumbled to his feet, feeling them trembling underneath him as he changed his nightwear to the robe Yaxley had given him. He followed the man along the trail, trying his best to keep up with his impatient pace. He fell behind before long, his tired feet stumbled on every root that was sticking out of the dirt, and his breathing turned into panting again. He could feel his eyes burning with lack of sleep, and every few minutes his mouth ripped into a wide yawn.

Realising Draco had failed to keep up, Yaxley had stayed and waited for him, forcing him to walk in front of him for the rest of the way. Whenever the man felt they weren't moving fast enough, he gave Draco a forceful push on the back. The boy fell down more than once, swearing in his mind every time not to give Yaxley any satisfaction by reacting. Instead, he got up more quickly after each fall, making sure to walk faster, though his legs felt like they could fall off at any minute.

After what felt like hours, they finally reached their destination. It was an old Victorian farmhouse that by the looks of it had been abandoned years ago. The windows were all nailed shut and the white paint was barely visible on the walls. The garden they walked across was badly overgrown, the branches of the apple and cherry trees scratched Draco's face as he walked by. He shivered. The whole place was soundless in a very peculiar way, as if it was that way only by someone's choice. The air felt thicker under the trees, making breathing far more difficult than it had been mere seconds before. Draco gritted his teeth to stop them from clattering and walked on, watching his step on the dead leaves. The cold sense of awareness that had taken over him in the lake was back, and despite his exhaustion the boy decided to stay as alert as he could.

Yaxley passed him before they reached the stairs, opening the door with a few muttered words Draco's ears couldn't quite catch. From the inside, the house seemed to be in better condition, at least from what he could see of it in the darkness. Before following Yaxley to the staircase on their right, Draco caught a glimpse of a parlour through an open door; there were no rugs on the floor, but the furniture was still in place, covered mostly with white, sheet-like cloths.

The stairs squeaked under their feet as they ascended, coming to a narrow hallway at the top. As they followed it, Draco started to make out sounds of people talking. A feeling of nervousness nested in his stomach as he suddenly realised what was happening, but before he could give it more thought, they reached a partly open door. A small strip of light entered the hallway before Yaxley pushed the door open. It made no sound, and the two of them glided in like shadows in their black robes.

"Draco."

The sound came from an armchair in front of the fireplace, which everyone in the room was facing. Draco stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly as he kneeled down in front of the wizard and kissed the hem of his robes.

"My Lord," he muttered, remaining on his knees out of exhaustion more than out of respect. Everyone else was quiet, as if they were waiting for something.

"Are you tired, Draco?" the Dark Lord asked now and Draco let out a weary sigh.

"Yes, my Lord. Very tired," he admitted, raising an amused reaction among the Death Eaters.

Draco glanced up and saw the wizard's lipless mouth had curled into a smile. Those red eyes he dreaded to look into were burning in the light of the fire, but the flames' glow could not fade away the whiteness of the Dark Lord's skin. A shudder went through his body, and he turned his eyes back to the floor.

"Did you find your test educational?" the wizard asked now, taking a small pause before the last word.

Draco couldn't help letting out a small laugh. "Yes, my Lord. I found it quite… compelling," he joked, and the Death Eaters muttered their approval again.

The Dark Lord's mouth curved into another smile. "There's more to come," he said, and his voice had a hint of a warning.

"I can only hope I keep meeting your requirements, my Lord," Draco replied, bending his head in a small bow.

The wizard sneered. "I can see your father taught you well," he said. "You're even more unctuous than he is."

Many of the Death Eaters laughed loudly at this, and Draco couldn't help smiling himself, mostly because he knew the Dark Lord's words were all too true.

"Severus," the wizard turned his eyes to the corner, where the Potions master was standing still, waiting for his cue, "you may escort young Draco back to school now."

Draco straightened his posture so fast he could feel his neck crack. He looked up at the Dark Lord with a frown, feeling rather disappointed. He had always expected something a tad more ceremonial than this, something that would last longer than a few minutes. He met those gleaming red eyes briefly, before turning his gaze back to the floor.

"Patience, Draco," the wizard whispered. "You have yet to prove yourself worthy."

Draco started, suddenly very aware of his own recklessness. Allowing his mind to take a course of its own was dangerous. He had to be more in control.

He followed Snape out of the room quietly, noticing now for the first time the smell of mould and dust that floated in the hallway around him. Someone cast a Silencing Charm on the room, and as they walked down the stairs, the only sounds that cut the air were the creaking of the steps and the occasional hissing Draco's hand made, sliding down the wooden banister.

The temperature outside had dropped by a few degrees, or at least that's what it felt like to Draco, who had gotten used to the room's warmth during the few minutes he had spent there. His teeth started clattering again, and the fatigue he had temporarily forgotten about was back, making his feet feel heavy as lead as he dragged them along another path, one that was leading away from the lake this time. For a long time the artificial silence around them took hold and neither one of them said a word.

Finally, Draco opened his mouth to vocalise what had occurred to him as soon as he saw the man by the lake. "It was Yaxley's doing, wasn't it?" he asked, yawning. "The lake and the Inferi."

He could barely see Snape nodding in the darkness. "He'll think of something much worse for the next one," the man muttered absently, clearing the path from branches with his wand. Draco looked back. As soon as he passed, the pieces of wood returned to their previous positions.

"Where are we?" Draco asked, frowning. "Whose is that house?"

Snape sneered loudly. "Yours," he said. "Malfoy built, Malfoy owned."

Draco's frown grew deeper and a thought occurred to him. "With what kind of sums does my father fund this activity?" the boy queried demandingly.

The man sneered even louder. "You'll have to ask him," he remarked, picking up something from the ground. It looked like a trap for some kind of a small animal.

"A Portkey?" Draco moaned tiredly. "What, you couldn't come up with a more vulgar way of travelling?" His mind was on the swirling-through-space- feature of the means, and he found the thought utterly displeasing.

"You should learn how to Apparate," Snape noted while taking a look at his pocket watch.

Draco snorted. "I should learn a lot more than just that by the looks of it," he declared, irritated, "since apparently that ogre is going to come up with something worse than a thousand corpses of the undead dragging me to the bottom of the lake in the middle of the night."

Snape agreed with a mumble. "I guess I could teach you something," he muttered, sounding less than excited about the idea.

Draco's eyebrows climbed a good inch closer to his hairline. "You?" he replied incredulously. "You would teach me?"

The man cast an irritated glance at him. "One minute," he informed, and held out the trap so the boy could grab it. He did, after a second of hesitation.

"I guess I should probably thank you then," he thought aloud, not actually doing it.

Snape sneered again, but didn't say a word. The minute passed faster than Draco had expected, and the two disappeared into the darkness without a sound.

***

To Draco, the morning came all too soon. It felt like his head had barely touched the pillow when he had to get up to face another day in the castle. His brain still seemed unable to process what had happened the night before, but he didn't make the mistake of thinking it had all been a dream, his sore limbs saw to that very effectively. His eyes were red and burning and the boy wondered how much of it was due to not sleeping and how much to the dirty water of the lake.

It wasn't until he had dressed into his school robes that someone said something. The thought of unpleasant questions had crossed his mind, but as soon as it had, Draco had chased it away, unwilling to think about it first thing in the morning. He was faced with the first one now, but to his surprise, it wasn't half as bad as he had thought.

"Did you get laid last night?"

Draco gave Blaise an irritated glare. "Can't your overly hormonal brain think about anything else than sex, Blaise?" he asked, yawning.

The other boy fell silent for a while before continuing, "You weren't in your bed last night. I saw it."

The blond boy gave a small laugh. "Congratulations, you still have eyesight," he mocked. "What do you expect me to say, Blaise?" he asked now, packing his books in his briefcase.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure how much of it all he was authorised to say. It had all been very secretive, that much was true. Was Blaise considered trustworthy enough to know? His father was a Death Eater, but as far as Draco knew, the Dark Lord had no plans for Blaise himself.

Blaise shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "That you did?"

Draco sneered, and headed along the hallway for breakfast. He was so used to everyone following him by now that he barely noticed it happening. The boy wondered how much greater the number of his toadies would be if the whole house knew he was in training to become a Death Eater. He couldn't imagine a higher status than that.

The second he stepped in the Great Hall there was a commotion in the Slytherin House table, caused by the still confused first-years moving over from the seat everyone knew belonged to Draco and none other. The boy sat down indifferently, feeling the glares from the other house tables on his neck. He poured himself a cup of coffee while folding out the _Daily Prophet._ He gave the front page a quick glance before separating the economy section from the other news and handing them over to Blaise. He in his turn chose the sports, and the paper continued its journey to Pansy, who refused it, stating she had already read the news.

"You look like shit this morning," she told Draco in a matter-of-factly way as she spread some blackberry currant jam on a croissant.

The boy kept his eyes on the stock market development, and mumbled in agreement. He was looking a lot less dapper than usually with his bloodshot eyes and the bags under them. The warm steam rising from his cup only managed to make him even sleepier than he already was.

"Draco wasn't in his bed last night," Blaise hurried to inform the girl, "and methinks you know something about it."

Pansy let out a laugh. "Why would I know anything about it?" she queried amusedly.

Blaise raised his eyebrows insinuatingly. "Why indeed?" he asked back and turned back to the Quidditch scores.

The girl sneered. "You know what?" she pointed out. "Methinks Draco has something else on his mind than the only things you seem to be able to think about, Blaise."

Draco glanced at Pansy, once again suddenly reminded by the fact that the girl's excellent grades were not only due to busy revising. He kept his face expressionless, turning his attention once again to the news.

"Is it true then?" a new voice cut in the conversation. Draco felt an instant wave of annoyance as he recognised the speaker.

"Your father really doesn't have a life, does he, Gray?" he asked, gritting his teeth to keep himself from turning to face the brat. Of course the snitch had written to his son the first chance he got. The man had probably poured all his bitterness out on that one letter, cursing the Malfoys once and for all for all their good fortune and supremacy. Draco felt the familiar shiver crawling up his spine. It always happened when he was dealing with the Grays.

"Shouldn't you be a bit more respectful?" Colin Gray spat angrily. "He's your superior now."

Draco laughed a bit louder than he had intended. "You Grays will never be superior to me," he assured the boy. "No matter how big a complex you have over it."

Colin's face grew pale with resentment. "I'll never understand why he chose you," he swore before storming out of the Great Hall.

"What was all that about?" Blaise asked, making the pale boy let out a bark of laughter.

"Knowing Gray, nothing of real importance," Pansy interrupted, giving Draco one of those knowing glances. "Shall we go?" she asked, leaving the table. Draco poured the last of the coffee down his throat and followed her to the stairs leading to the dungeons.

***

The NEWT level Potions class was flooded. Ravenclaws were the conspicuous majority of the students and they occupied the front most seats in the classroom with no exceptions. Potter and his golden gang had taken over the right wing of the school desks among the occasional Hufflepuffs, who seemed to seek protection from Professor Snape in Potter's holy hems.

Although, it seemed like Potter was the one in need of that protection himself.

"Mr Potter," Professor Snape's poignant tone cut through the velvety smoke that mounted in thick, purple clouds from Potter's cauldron, "I won't even assume you understand this mess you have created."

The silence that followed was brief.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor for not showing interest in this, voluntary, subject," the man said calmly, "and detention on Friday."

Draco's practised concentration didn't flare for one second. His potion completed perfect among a few fellow Slytherins and almost half of the Ravenclaws. The bell rang and the lesson was over making the class wave to the exit in a blurry mass of black school robes.

As soon as he got out of the classroom, his feet took a quick turn to the right to a narrow hallway that lead to another hallway, this time dusty and unused but longer to his left. He took the left, spotted a door that seemed to be by the looks of it, at least five hundred years old with its rusty hinges and fractured wood. Draco's fingers quickly spotted a round metallic hoop that worked as a handle. Pulling the door open, he stepped into a dark window-less room that was even shallower than the Potions classroom but wider in a way that it almost seemed never ending. Draco, however, knew that on the other end of the room, there was a small part of the wall leading to the Slytherins' dormitories.

He arranged his schoolbooks that he had left behind on purpose to avoid the loud questioning of Blaise, Pansy and some unfortunate others into his bag. The questions, he felt, could wait until the end of the day. It didn't seem appropriate discussing the matter anywhere where undeserving ears could eavesdrop on their words.

The next lessons of Arithmancy and oh-so-needed Defence Against the Dark Arts went by agonisingly slow. Weasel got some extra credit for making a perfect Patronus Charm that was supposedly difficult to manage, even for some adult witches and wizards. That moment Draco had decided to crown Tuesday the most detestable day of the week.

As he sat down to face Pansy at dinner, he felt the burning of Potter's distasteful staring. The stare didn't seem to stop until Draco looked up to cast a quick glare at the Gryffindor.

"You would think that three inches of glass would filter some of that odium," Draco sneered. His steak went untouched as he proceeded to eat his green-pea salad.

Pansy choked out a laugh, her mouth full of potato. She followed Draco's eyes to the Gryffindor House table while swallowing. "He has been paying an awful lot of attention on you lately," the girl thought aloud, piercing a green bean with her fork.

Draco snorted and bit into his whole-grain bread.

"Hey," Pansy said and caught Draco's attention, "you weren't at lunch."

Draco nodded and forked some more peas into his mouth. "Hence the hunger."

"That's hardly food," Pansy retorted and passed him a dish of some pale fish in dark lentil sauce. "You should eat properly. Especially since rumour has it…"

"Now that we can discuss after dinner someplace more appropriate," Draco said in a monotonous voice. "It's hardly a topic for a dinner table conversation."

Pansy's eyes cleared with surprise. "It's true then?" her mouth curved into a distressed frown.

Draco ignored her, taking interest in the fish dish Pansy had offered.

***

The warmly lit common-room looked very welcoming in all its noise and liveliness after the dusty silence of the library. Draco entered the room, letting his gaze fall on the ornate chairs and delicate side tables, whose dark wood reflected the light from the fireplaces in a dim earthy glow. The green silky upholstery of his usual seat in the corner caught his eye, inviting him to join the conversation that was taking place around it. The boy went through the faces quickly to find anyone new, or anyone missing.

"You can't possibly think that half-bloods can be taken seriously, Tracey!" Daphne Greengrass exclaimed melodramatically as Draco sat down on his chair and let his black leather briefcase fall on the stone floor beside him.

His eyes shot back and forth between the two as they continued.

"I didn't say they can be taken seriously, I just said that they have some value in the matter," the girl corrected Daphne's words calmly. "And again, I'm not saying they have as much value as us, but I think they do have more value than Mudbloods and blood traitors."

"What's the difference?" Gray cut in with a sour expression. "I don't make any distinction between half-bloods and Muggles and neither should you."

Draco rolled his eyes, stretching his legs as he ridiculed Gray's words silently in his mind.

"You obviously have no idea what the concept warfare means," he declared pointedly. "I've said this to you before, Gray, you shouldn't take part in these conversations before you educate yourself a little. I suggest you start with your OWLs."

People around them laughed, and Colin's face grew sourer still.

"I myself believe that every case of a half-blood has to be dealt with separately," Draco continued assertively. "We all know how easily pure-blooded families can get tainted these days. Sometimes what matters more isn't the blood's escape from all corruption, but the most loyal and conscientious service." He took a small pause to clear his throat. "Of course it's primarily important that those people be made to understand their place in the natural order of things."

Those around him mumbled their agreement. Draco's eyes grew brighter as he went on.

"We must all be grateful for the recent development," he preached, "for finally someone is looking out for our interests, and believe me, there is no other reason for it not going about the usual political channels than the envy and maliciousness of those who refuse to admit that with purity of blood come some inevitable aspects of superiority."

"Hear, hear!" Derrick shouted and they all laughed. Draco's drowsiness had disappeared with his words, and new energy had replaced it. The feeling of empowerment flooded his mind as he realised the unquestionable truthfulness of his own opinions, and the fact that he alone was justified to verbalise them, and this time the justification didn't only come from his heritage but from his own actions. It came from his own flawlessness.

"Who do you suppose we have in the Ministry?" Miles Bletchley inquired, creating an uncertain silence. A handful of names rose to Draco's consciousness.

"Well, there are the obvious," Tracey Davis started, "Bole, Selwyn, and the new one, Higgs."

"We don't really have anyone close to the Minister, do we?" Pansy reminded. "I mean, Fudge was practically eating from your father's hand but this Scrimgeour…"

"He used to be the head of the Auror Office, you know," Goyle pointed out, making a few of the seventh-years cast irritated glares at him.

"Yes, Goyle. We know," Blaise groaned impatiently.

There was another pensive silence among the assembly, until Adrian Pucey let out a small laugh.

"Ah, to be living in the old days," he grinned, "when the Minister was one of us."

Blaise sniggered. "They had some proper laws back then," he declared enthusiastically.

Draco sneered quietly and turned his gaze to the fireplace. It had been many centuries since there had been laws to legalise pure-blood dominance, and he admitted in those days things had gotten more than a little out of control. He had never seen laws on hunting Muggles necessary for the modern society, but felt that a certain level of respect had to be maintained.

"Hunting Mudbloods," Colin Gray chuckled. "Now that's my kind of sport."

Draco turned back to the boy. "Sports, Gray?" he asked amusedly. "Really?"

People laughed again, but this time Colin's expression didn't go off.

"Well it's not like you do Quidditch anymore," he reminded the boy spitefully.

Draco sneered. "A man in my position does well to learn how to prioritise," he stretched the last word out pointedly.

With these words the atmosphere in the company sharpened, and without looking up Draco knew people had straightened their postures and turned their full attention on him and the answers he would give to their questions. For a long time they all were quiet and the only sound was the crackling of the wood in the fire.

"Gray was telling the truth, wasn't he?" Blaise finally breathed out. "You're actually going to be -"

"It's not quite as simple as that, Blaise," Draco hurried to cut in. "However, if everything goes well…" He left the end of his sentence incomplete, knowing himself how haughty he sounded. He could sense the respect that in those few seconds had gotten so thick he felt it was almost like a living, breathing thing ready to leap onto his lap to be petted, and he couldn't help a small smile curling his lips.

"Have you…" Nott started, stopping to clear his throat in the middle, "met him?"

The pale boy took a pause, returning in his mind to the previous night, thinking about it all for the first time without the cloud of exhaustion hindering his cognition. He wondered what his expectations had been, what he had thought the Dark Lord to be like before their brief encounter. All of his previous musings seemed to have disappeared during the brief hours he had slept. Slowly Draco nodded, but kept quiet.

Daphne Greengrass let out a hissing breath through her teeth. Draco could sense she was dying to ask something, but her tongue was held back by fear, or maybe even decency.

Pucey laughed again. "Draco Malfoy in training," he muttered, lowering his voice as they were passed by three first-years making their way to the dormitories. "I'd expect nothing less."

The blond boy smiled, stretching his arms above his head. The elder boy's words reminded him of his father, and for a moment, he wondered if his achievement had made the man proud.

"What's it like then? The training," Gray spat out challengingly, clearly in the hopes he could later on assure himself it was something he himself would have managed.

Draco looked around him at all those eyes gleaming in the light of the fire, anxiously waiting for any delineation he would make of the exclusive situations he was facing. He kept his face expressionless, wondering if he really wanted to say anything about it at all.

"I wasn't given direct orders about how much of it I could reveal to others," he finally informed, "and that being the case I'd rather not say anything at all."

Gray snorted so loudly a lonely third-year turned to look at them with a frown. Most of the crowd looked understanding, yet disappointed.

Draco frowned a little himself. "Well, I suppose I could tell you… since none of you have any essential connections with him…"

"Tell us what?" Blaise hurried to inquire, sounding almost breathless.

The pale boy sneered a little. "Who has been appointed to care for my training," he mentioned, and the group's attention sharpened again. Draco stayed quiet, enjoying the hold he had over them without doing a thing.

"It's Yaxley, isn't it?" Pansy ultimately presented, making Draco smirk a little at her sharp wit.

He picked up his briefcase and got to his feet. "Good night to you all," he barely wished before making his way across the room to the hallway that led to the sixth-years' dormitories.

When he took off his school robes, he felt the hours spent not sleeping on his eyes again, and he yawned widely. His bed had never felt softer, nor had the dormitory ever felt more peaceful. His thoughts returned to the common-room for a brief while, before he closed his eyes and fell to a deep sleep.

***

By the following morning, the news of Draco's advancing had seemed to reach every Slytherin in the school. When the boy joined his housemates at breakfast, he was followed around by a sea of whispers he quickly wished would disappear, as he noticed it drew the Gryffindors' attention. Though he himself couldn't have cared less, he spotted Professor Snape looking at his house in a displeased manner.

He took his usual seat at the table, feeling much better than twenty-four hours before. He poured himself a cup of tea instead of coffee, and buttered his toast just as the mail arrived. He wasn't expecting anything, and therefore the barn owl gliding down to his plate took him by surprise.

The message the bird was carrying was brief. Draco knew better than to glance at his Head of House as he read the few neatly composed lines that suggested he come to one of the larger dungeons after his lessons that day. The pale boy folded the note and placed it in his pocket, shaking his head a little at Blaise's inquiry on the letter's contents.

After breakfast, he faced another commonplace day inside the castle's thick walls. The challenge of the day turned out to be ignoring Potter's suspicious glares at Transfigurations, as well as Charms. By the time the bell rang and he started making his way to the dungeons, Draco had firmly concluded that the only one who needed to get a life was not Colin Gray's father.

He took a detour from a first floor landing to shake off anyone who might be following him, walking toward his destination at a swift pace. He wondered what Snape would teach him, and a little on whether the situation would be as awkward as it had been when they had left the house by the lake. Though he had always been the professor's favourite in the classroom, it was obviously intended more to irritate the other Houses than to compliment him, for the courtesy never extended beyond his weekly Potions lessons.

The door to the dungeon opened silently as soon as he reached it, and Draco stepped inside confidently. The room was dark, lit only by one lonely candle that stood on the teacher's desk.

"Did you notice anyone following you?" the man asked, sitting by the dusty desk that had clearly gone unused for a decade or two. Even now, after the end of the school day, he had a pile of paper in front of him that he was going over, his crooked nose nearly scratching the surface of the parchment.

Draco shook his head, setting his briefcase on an equally dusty desk, the only one in the room.

"Good," the man stated without lifting his gaze from his work. "The less people know about this, the better."

The boy mumbled in agreement, and sat down on the desk behind him. Another few minutes passed before the Potions master flicked his wand to make the paperwork disappear.

"As you might have guessed by now, your training will certainly not be easy," Snape lectured, making the whole situation feel like a lesson as he walked toward the empty space in the middle of the classroom. "Having someone who absolutely loathes you as your instructor will result to ruthless tasks, but it might have some advantages."

Draco snorted. It was hard to imagine what advantages Yaxley's detestation toward the Malfoys could possibly have.

"Emotional people make mistakes," the man explained in his low voice, guessing Draco's thoughts effortlessly. He flicked his wand again, and Draco could hear the key turn in the lock. The boy wasn't at all surprised to hear this was the man's opinion.

"Something tells me I shouldn't count on that, Professor," the boy pointed out, and the man nodded.

"The tasks you are about to face do not only measure your knowledge in spells and curses," Snape continued, casting a Silencing Charm on the room. "In order to serve the Dark Lord you must embrace every aspect of his ideology. Your reactions to problems are just as crucial as the way you solve them," he fell silent for a moment, "but above all else, you have to be willing to forfeit everything you hold dear, should the Dark Lord demand it."

Draco had expected to hear just that, but it didn't make it sound any better.

Snape seemed to get to the point. "I suppose the first thing you should learn is to make your way here unnoticed," he professed. Draco's eyes shot up from the floor onto which he had been concentrating and they grew bright as he imagined the infinite possibilities of invisibility. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and got to his feet eagerly.

"Making yourself invisible is far too difficult for someone your age," the man crushed his dreams at once. "However, there are other ways of helping you remain unseen by others."

Draco walked to the middle of the space somewhat more unsurely than he had stepped in the room.

"The key to mastering this spell is concentrating," Snape explained patiently, "and since it would probably be good for you to start learning non-verbal magic, you'll be practising it without words as well."

"How exactly does it work, sir?" Draco asked, not sure whether he should be excited or bothered.

The man continued in his dry tone, "The spell, if cast correctly, will allow for you to blend in with the shadows of any vertical surface close to you."

"Blend in?" Draco asked immediately. "So, what? I just change colour?"

Snape sneered. "What I meant is that you will become one with your own shadow," he informed the boy. "I'm sure you understand how that will help you remain undetected."

The boy's eyes grew brighter. Now that he thought about it, the spell sounded very handy indeed, and after a quick consideration he found it better than invisibility, which he, since his third year, had thought to be Potter's cheap little trick to make himself feel more special. Besides, what was so great about an Invisibility Cloak? To Draco it seemed like the easiest possible way to get around unnoticed. Even a monkey could dress himself, but it took a lot more to turn oneself imperceptible.

"If successfully cast, the spell will create a barely visible path leading from you to your shadow," the man went on. "By following that trail you should be able to complete it."

"Is it very common Dark Magic, sir?"

"No, it's more or less unknown," Snape explained, taking steps back and forth in the classroom. "Of course it doesn't come without risks."

The corners of Draco's mouth sunk.

"If thought about using this spell in a battle or a duel," the man started, "it may give you a crucial element of surprise, and let you remain unseen for a while, provided there are shadows to hide in. It will not, however, protect you from any curses or spells cast at you."

Draco frowned. "And the possibility of me being stuck as a shadow for the rest of my life, Professor?" he asked pointedly.

"It does exist, yes," Snape admitted, "but as I said, this spell is fairly uncommon, so the counter-curse is unlikely to occur to anyone."

The boy nodded soberly. "What's it called, sir?" he asked.

"Umbra Obscura," the Potions master replied, lighting a handful of air-borne candles with a wave of his wand. Draco looked behind him at the shadows playing on the rutted walls of stone and felt his anxiousness as a slight itch at the tips of his fingers.

"While you're casting the spell," the man begun, "you mustn't have one shred of hesitation in your mind. This aspect of the spell makes it exceptionally easy to use in a duel, for those are the moments when you truly want to complete it."

The way the professor kept mentioning duels and battles made the boy's palms sweat slightly.

"Imagining the wall being water may help," Snape continued. "You need to picture yourself sinking into it, and changing consistency."

"Changing consistency," Draco repeated hesitantly. "And what happens if I do it wrong, sir?"

"You shouldn't consider that option," the man stated in a matter-of-factly way. "You should practise the spell first, and try not to focus on the wall."

The boy rolled his eyes. As he turned to face the wall, it was suddenly all he could think about. His mind was crammed with the feeling of being in it, the cold stone crushing his body from all sides as he slowly ran out of air. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He tried to imagine sinking into the wall, just like he did every autumn at King's Cross station, but instead of going through it, he imagined stopping somewhere in between. The thought of platform nine and three-quarters seemed to help a little, but when he muttered the words and waved his wand, nothing happened.

"Point your wand to the floor," his professor guided him calmly, "and picture the spell in front of you. Don't let your mind rebel."

Draco took another deep breath and wrapped his mind around the concept. He closed his eyes, trying to see a path of magic in front of his feet, leading toward the wall. He opened his eyes for a moment to cast a glance at his shadow, waiting as still as he was on the uneven surface. The light in the room flickered with an invisible breeze, making the dark figure alter between different shades of obscurity like a strange chameleon.

"_Umbra Obscura_," Draco conjured louder than before, opening his eyes just in time to see a group of sparks part from the tip of his wand and land on the floor, where they disappeared like melting snow.

"Better, but you have to stay focused until the end," the Potions master reminded him. "Don't allow any other thoughts until the spell is complete."

Draco gritted his teeth, cursing his own impatience. "Can I keep my eyes closed?" he inquired, hoping not seeing the wall would help him focus.

"By all means."

The boy closed his eyes again, trying to keep all of the aspects of the spell on the edge of his mind, the sinking, changing consistency, the spell itself and the lack of reluctance. He waved his wand again; it made a swishing sound that was followed by absolute silence.

"Concentrate," Snape muttered from his right, "and walk forward."

Draco gritted his teeth again, trying to clear his mind from the anticipation and nervousness that suddenly attacked his brain. He could see the light of the spell on his closed eyelids faltering as the foreign feelings interrupted the magic. His whole body grew tense as he tried to grasp hold of himself. He took a step toward his shadow, the spell felt curiously warm under his foot despite his shoes of black leather. He stopped for a fraction of a moment to draw a hissing breath through his teeth before taking another step, and then another, until he could sense the wall in front of him.

Slowly he started reaching out with his right hand, picturing it becoming one with the identical hand his shadow was lifting to meet his. He felt the cold, coarse stone beneath the tips of his fingers for a moment before they penetrated it, and the roughness moved on to scrape the skin of his hand, wrist and forearm. He took another step, sinking halfway into the castle before opening his eyes.

The whole world seemed to consist of shades of darkness, of grey and black and everything in between from the light silvery hue of candlelight on the wall, to the ink-like tinge of the Potions master's shadow on Draco's immediate right. He took another step, sinking deeper into his own shadow. As he looked around, he noticed everything was two-dimensional; the world around him had no depth. He could feel the stone around him, but instead of suffocating, it felt secure, making a new meaning of the word safe occur to him.

He turned around to face Snape and the classroom again, making out more of his shape than his actual presence. The real world looked as though a veil of the thinnest grey silk had been drawn between him and home. He paced back and forth for a while, feeling or imagining the stone of the wall brushing his cheeks gently. Before he could even begin to wonder how to get back out again, he stepped toward the professor and found himself in the classroom that after the experience felt vast and cold.

"Well done," Snape admitted as Draco exhaled loudly. He couldn't remember breathing in the wall. "With a bit of practice, you should be ready to use it effectively in no time."

The boy glanced back at his shadow, almost expecting it to wave.

"Have you done non-verbal magic before?" the man asked now, and Draco replied by shaking his head absently. The spell had been more wearisome than he had anticipated.

"I suppose we should recommence on another day," the professor noted. "I strongly suggest you practice on your spare time." He lifted the Silencing Charm from the room and unlocked the door.

Draco nodded quietly, picking his briefcase up from the desk. "What else did you think of teaching me, Professor?" he suddenly asked, knowing he'd want to prepare for it beforehand.

The man took a small pause. "The Shield Charm is always useful," he finally stated, "and I presume a few curses may well prove useful in your situation."

The boy nodded again, staying quiet for a long time as he made his way to the door. Before opening it, he turned back.

"What is my situation, sir?" he asked bluntly, making the man gaze up from the papers he had once again conjured to appear.

The following calm lasted uncomfortably long, until the man broke it by uttering, "Looks like we've got a long way ahead of ourselves, do we not?"

Draco's face grew blank with the professor's words, and he reached for the door handle, ready to press it.

"I spoke with your father," Snape informed abruptly. "He sends his congratulations."

The boy's eyes widened a bit, before a small smile took over. "Thank you, sir," he barely mumbled before exiting the room.

As he entered the common-room a few hours later, it seemed like absolutely everyone had been talking about him. As soon as he stepped in, a complete silence fell over the room, and all eyes were pointed at him. He walked to his usual seat again, but unlike the evening before, there was no lively conversation he could partake. The atmosphere had become unnervingly tense, and even when the Slytherins started going on about their own business, and the people around him started fumbling for words, Draco couldn't enjoy the setting. He left early without saying much, even though he was still far from tired.

In the privacy of the dormitories, he practiced his Shield Charms and the few curses he had learned up to that point, and didn't stop until his housemates joined him.

***

The following morning found Draco more animated than he remembered being in a long time. One pleasurable stretch and a yawn later he was out of bed, and headed toward the shower. After washing himself hastily, he dressed in his school robes and left the stuffy morning air of the dormitories. A quick glance at his silver pocket watch told him it was far too early for anyone else to be awake.

The common-room looked more inviting to the boy now that the prying eyes were gone, and he took a seat on one of the larger sofas, lifting his feet up and leaning to the armrest. He allowed his mind to wander from one subject to another as he sat there, immobile with a few worry lines crinkling his forehead. More than the inevitable changes the whole wizarding world was facing, he thought about himself and his own situation. Being in training naturally meant that he would either become a Death Eater or die trying, and there was no question about which of the options Draco preferred. He couldn't help but ponder on the subject of what his purpose to the Dark Lord was, and what his function in the company would turn out to be. He had always rather imagined it would have more or less to do with money, since he was a Malfoy after all, and money was in his blood as much as purity was.

His eyes followed his shadow as it bounced on the wall, cast by the already lit fire in the large marble hearth. His thoughts shifted to the Potions master, and the way he had emphasised the words "battle" and "duel" repeatedly. That strongly indicated Draco was to not only duel as part of his training, but also play a part in the predestined battles that were to take place as the authority was reassigned to its rightful holders. The boy closed his eyes and sighed, as he realised how much work he was in for, and how much preparation it would take him just to get trough the following months without ending up in the ground.

His gloomy thoughts scattered as the door to the common room opened suddenly, and a rather unkempt Pansy stepped in. She looked around nervously before starting to take fast steps toward the girls' dormitories, pressing her untidy hair down all the while. When Draco called out her name, she jumped a good two feet into the air and pressed her hand on her chest, breathing heavily.

"You scared me," she gasped quietly and straightened her dishevelled robes, looking anxious and shaken.

Draco looked at her, not sure whether he should smile or frown. "Are you alright?" he asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

"Me?" the girl breathed. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Draco shrugged. "You look a bit… distressed," he finally settled on the word he thought would sound most diplomatic.

"Well I'm fine," the girl chuckled restlessly. "I was just taking a walk."

The boy shrugged again. "If you say so," he concluded, thinking it best to leave it at that. "I'll see you at breakfast then."

The girl nodded with an inaudible mumble before disappearing to the girls' dormitories. Draco wasn't surprised when she didn't show up for breakfast a few hours later. He was taken aback, however, by the fact that she didn't seem to be the only one acting abnormally on that day. It wasn't just that everyone seemed oddly taciturn, especially toward him, it was also that the commotion he had caused within his house seemed to have calmed down overnight, and no curious eyes were cast in his direction anymore.

Pansy didn't appear in the History of Magic classroom either, making Draco grow more worried by the minute as he sat there, her empty desk drawing his eyes much better than the problems of the eighteenth century wizarding England. He skipped lunch trying to find her, but the girl had obviously stayed in the dormitories where the boy had no access. When he asked Blaise if he had seen her, explaining the situation, the other boy seemed peculiarly indifferent.

"She's just been on one of her… you know," Blaise shrugged. "She's probably just sleeping."

"Maybe you're right," Draco admitted, not believing it for one second.

Even Arithmancy couldn't take his mind of his friend, and by the time of the Potions lesson, he was edging closer and closer to anxiety. When Snape saw Pansy's empty seat, he passed it without saying a thing, and that more than anything else made the hair in the back of Draco's neck stand up. There was something terribly wrong with everything, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

They started making their potions, and for his great misfortune, Draco ran into Potter by the supplies cupboard. The boy scowled at him sourly for a while in complete silence, before glancing at the professor quickly and muttering, "You're dead, Malfoy," under his breath.

Draco couldn't help his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. "And good school year to you too, Potter," he sneered. "You do realise that I haven't actually said anything to you since last spring?"

Potter's eyes narrowed as he looked at the pale boy. "I know what you're up to," he growled, "and trust me, you're going to pay for it with your life. I'll see to that myself."

After this hostile statement, he grabbed some unicorn hair from the cupboard and returned to his cauldron, which seemed to be filled with a rather satisfying specimen of the counter-poison they were brewing. Draco's mouth dropped slightly before he remembered what he was looking for, measured it, and completed his potion with outstanding results.

After a quick bite at dinner, Draco made a spin in the Hospital Wing in the hopes he wound find the girl there, suffering from nothing worse than bad PMT. Madam Pomfrey had no news for him, however, and he returned to the common room in a worried state of mind.

He was the only sixth-year student in there, and when he finally admitted he couldn't concentrate on his homework, the boy walked up to the dormitory to practice the spell Snape had taught him. He removed his robes and loosened his tie, but before he could pull his wand out of his bag, someone entered the room and knocked him over to a seated position on the bed.

"Draco, you have to help me," Pansy sobbed against his shoulder as she threw her arms around his neck and sat down next to him.

Draco, still shocked from her sudden reappearance, patted her clumsily on the back without saying a word. He let her cry there for a moment in peace before asking her what had happened.

"Oh, Draco," she snivelled. "I've done something a-awful." Her eyes were bloodshot, obviously from all the crying, and she kept wiping her nose on the sleeve of her robes.

"Now, now," the boy tried to soothe her awkwardly. It had been nearly a decade since he had seen Pansy cry. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Instead of calming down, the girl burst into a new set of tears. "But it is!" she wailed in distress. "I've done something horrible and now I have no one to help me!"

Draco's eyes widened with the loudening volume. "Calm down," he shushed and looked around. "Just… tell me what happened."

The girl sniffled for a while before she started, "I was… oh, fuck…" She stopped to cry some more. Draco's jaw clenched. "I was out last night and… I ran into…" Her head sunk in her hands and her shoulders shook with the force of the inaudible weeping.

The boy wrapped his arm tighter around her, mumbling clichéd words he hoped would help Pansy calm down.

"Who did you run into, Pansy?" he finally asked her quietly.

Her crying didn't seize for another moment. "I ran into…" she sobbed. "Oh fuck, I ran into Yaxley…"

Draco's heart skipped a beat as he heard this, and his teeth along with his fists clenched immediately. "Just tell me what that half-breed bastard did to you and I'll have him taken care of," he rushed to promise without thinking.

"No, it's not that, it's…" The girl paused again, like what she was about to tell him scared her out of her mind and saying it aloud was just too difficult. "Oh, fuck, I should not have run into him… I shouldn't have…" she kept moaning persistently, until Draco grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to face him.

"Pansy, you have to tell me what happened," he snapped, wishing what the girl was about to let out of her mouth would scatter away the bad feeling that was taking over him.

"I…" the girl breathed, her eyes widened. "I killed him, Draco."

A minute passed in complete silence. Draco's whole body had frozen into the position he was in when the girl's words cut the air. He didn't even blink as he stared at Pansy, his mind resisting the possibility of her actually telling the truth.

"You did what?" he finally whispered hoarsely, almost expecting to hear her say she wasn't being serious before.

"I…" the girl stuttered. "I killed him."

Hearing it the second time didn't make it seem any more real.

"How?" the boy asked pointedly. "I mean, why? I mean…" He took a breath. "What have you done, Pansy?"

Silent tears started falling down her cheeks again. "I don't know how it happened," she whimpered. "We got into a fight and… I just…"

"Are you sure you killed him?" Draco asked now. Trying to get his mind to understand it was actually painful.

"I checked, Draco! He wasn't breathing! So I just…" the girl sobbed, "I just ran, I didn't know what to do!"

Draco shushed the girl down, alarmed by her loud voice. "Alright, alright! Just… calm down," he ordered her quietly.

"You have to help me, Draco!" she cried. "You have to tell him I didn't mean to do it!"

Draco's frown grew deeper as he considered Pansy's words in silence before understanding them. When he finally realised who the girl had meant, he got on his feet immediately.

"Pansy…" he started with a horrified expression on his face, but she wouldn't let him continue.

"I really didn't mean it!" she wailed. "He tried to…" her words died out as her tears took over.

Draco took a few steps back, staring at the sobbing girl on his bed. What she asked him to do, he realised, could not be done. It couldn't be done by him, or anyone else to that matter.

"Pansy…" he tried again. "Pansy, you know I can't…"

"Please, Draco!" she exclaimed. "You have to! He'll kill me if you don't!"

The boy understood the truth in the girl's words, and started pacing back and forth in the small space between the beds. His shocked mind tried every possible approach to the problem, but reasoning closed them all out before they could even take shape.

"This doesn't make any sense…" he moaned. "Why would you do something like that, Pansy? How could you be so stupid?"

The girl kept crying. "I don't know how it happened," she whispered. "I just… didn't mean it."

"What were you doing out of the castle in the middle of the night anyway?" he was almost shouting now. "What were you thinking, Pansy?"

"I don't know, alright!" she yelled back. "It was an accident, so stop shouting and help me!"

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" he snapped. "I'm in training, Pansy, I've barely got my foot in the door and you…" he stopped and pulled his hair before continuing more calmly, "I'm sorry Pansy but you know I can't…"

"Please! I'll do anything if you help me!" Pansy exclaimed, pulling him back on the bed. She laid her hand on his thigh and continued, "You know I mean it. I'll do anything."

Draco looked at her hand on his thigh with the deepest frown he had had all day. It all seemed so wrong, absolutely all of it. The whole day had been a bit off, from the morning when he woke up at half past five without feeling the least bit tired to the indifference of his housemates, and Potter's sudden outburst of enmity. Now that he thought about it, the whole idea of Pansy succeeding in killing Yaxley sounded utterly ludicrous. And why Yaxley? Out of all the Death Eaters, she had killed the one person who was responsible for his training. But the most ridiculous thing of them all was what the girl had just let out of her mouth. She'd do anything if he'd help her, anything at all? Pansy knew him better than that, and he knew Pansy.

He turned his eyes back on her so suddenly she flinged. "I don't believe you," he stated. "I don't believe any of this. You, Blaise, Potter, none of it."

She lifted her hand from his thigh, her face showing nothing but shock and sadness.

"This is all some act," he said, nearly laughing now. Letting the words out of his mind made him realise they were the only truth he had heard all day. "You're just testing me to see if I'd refuse."

Draco woke up again, and for a long time he didn't know whether the world he was in was real or not. He could smell the familiar scent of furniture polish, and feel the Egyptian cotton sheets under his hands. He was home in the Manor, unmistakably, but was any of it real? He pinched himself, even though he knew it wouldn't tell him anything of his situation.

He got out of bed and walked out of the room to his study, opening his desk drawers as soon as he reached them. He looked for any sign of it all being just… whatever it had been before, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He returned to his bedroom to get dressed, before leaving his room through his parlour and entering the dark hallways leading to the rest of the house. In a flash he remembered what it had been like growing up there, when he had been a child who after having a bad dream sneaked through the rooms to the servants' side to find his nursemaid.

He walked past the endless lines of snoring portraits of his ancestors, keeping his ears open for any other sound than the slight creaking of the floorboards under his weight. His mind worked feverishly, and he knew if the previous had been a test, he should be able to find someone there. If he had been entertaining a company of such noble blood, he knew exactly in which room he would have it take place.

His gait fastened as he jumped down the stairs softly three at a time, making his way toward the grand parlour. The closer he got to it, the more voices he could make out in the silence. They suggested a larger and less restrained assembly than before. Draco stopped at the door for a moment, until he remembered he didn't need to knock in his own house.

The salon was full, additional chairs had been brought from all over the Manor for the guests and still some remained standing. Only a fire and the two chandeliers that both had only four candles in them lighted the scene. As Draco stepped in, he recognised many familiar faces, most notably his mother's, whom he had never imagined to take part in such a gathering. She didn't seem to be enjoying herself, but had drawn to a corner and lit a cigarette, which was not her first judging by the nearly full ashtray in front of her.

"There he is," Draco heard his aunt Bellatrix rejoice from across the room. The woman rushed over to him, her dark cloak fluttering behind her, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "We're all very proud of you, Draco, so very proud."

His smile was forced, but he nodded at her before making his way further in the room. He could already guess where the Dark Lord was seated. He walked over to the massive armchair by the fire and kneeled down like he had done before, ignoring everyone else in the room.

"My Lord," he spoke softly, and saw the lipless mouth curve into a slight smile.

"Always so courteous, Draco," he sneered.

Draco smiled. "Maybe the word you were looking for was well-bred, my Lord," he ventured daringly.

The Dark Lord uttered a quiet laugh. "Well-bred, indeed," he said gently, extending his hand to brush the boy's platinum blond hair indifferently. "So far you've lived up to my expectations, Draco," he complimented, until the tone of his voice changed, "but I will not tolerate the traditions we're trying to preserve being ridiculed."

The wizard got to his feet, walking past Draco so swiftly he could hardly see the hem of his ink-black robes swing by. The boy got up as well, his face growing slightly pale as the Dark Lord continued.

"Especially you, who are the direct consequence of thousands of years of determination and unfaltering sense of morality, should understand this," he spoke very quietly now, but his words didn't go unheard by anyone in his presence. "You are an ideal, Draco, and you must understand the importance of behaving like one."

Draco kneeled again. "I apologise for my inconsiderate words, my Lord," he tried to take back what he had said, even though he knew it was in vain. "I should have known it was inappropriate."

"Yes, you should have," the man agreed in a whisper. "I don't enjoy punishing any of you," he explained, addressing his words to everyone in the room, "and I trust you all understand why it is indispensable." He walked across the room slowly before stopping in front of the boy whose hands shook as he reached for the hem of his robes and kissed it obediently.

"There is no love without respect, Draco," the wizard told him didactically, "and no respect without fear. You understand this, don't you?"

The boy nodded gravely, trying to swallow down the lump of fear from his throat. He could hear his heartbeat loudly in his ears.

"_Crucio_."

Draco could barely hear the word before the blood red curse parted from the tip of the Dark Lord's wand and exploded into millions of fractions of individual pain that seemed to spread around his body in his blood, with the beating of his heart and the deep breaths of air he managed to pull in from the screaming. For someone who had always valued his own life as much as he had, Draco started to wish for death very quickly, as the insufferable torture spread to his eyes. He could feel fire burning them, and he cried in vain for it to stop. He couldn't feel lifting his hands to cover his face, but that's where he found them as the pain disappeared, and his screaming reduced to pathetic whimpering he wished no one would be there to witness.

"Your life will belong to me," the Dark Lord whispered. "Do you understand this, Draco?"

The boy got to his feet, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Yes, my Lord," he muttered compliantly.

The wizard turned back to the rest of the assembly. "We celebrate tonight," he suddenly announced, "for I have finally received verification of a fact I've always known to be true."

The ambience sharpened in an instant after these words.

"My family tree is finished," he informed softly, "the most noble and ancient tree that has borne so many fruits with no name, and no patrimony, the tree that has a branch for Salazar Slytherin himself."

Draco looked up at the Dark Lord, mesmerized by his words.

"Your father confirmed it, Draco, what I've always known to be true for indeed there was no other possibility," the wizard continued, "William the Morbid has been added to the patrician group of my antecedents, and with this disclosure will his name forever be linked to mine. His powers will be surpassed by mine, and you shall forever nurture his legend and his intentions shall be raised to the significance they deserve."

There was commotion in the company, the Death Eaters drew their hoods and kneeled, and Draco followed their example. He didn't understand the importance of the Dark Lord's words, but it was clear to him that something extraordinary had just taken place.

"Now," the wizard smiled, "we shall feast."

They shouted out their approval with excitement, disappearing from the room one by one. The Dark Lord watched them silently with a smile before calling for the only one who had left behind.

"Take Draco back to the castle, Severus," he ordered calmly. The other man nodded, leaving the room without bothering to look back. Draco followed him swiftly, and they made their way to the large fireplace in the library. In a flash of emerald flames, they were in Snape's study, and he hurried the boy along to the dormitories without a word.

Draco lay awake long that night, thinking about the situation in which he had involved himself. He could only imagine the headlines of the morning's _Daily Prophet_. Slowly but surely all other thoughts were wiped away by the strangely threatening and captivating name the Dark Lord was now inevitably connected to. He tried to understand its meaning, but found himself unable. Who, after all, was William the Morbid?


	3. Chapter Two Rem Tene, Verba Sequentur

Rem tene, verba sequentur

The first snow wrapped Scotland in its icy folds early on a Thursday morning. Its appearance came as no surprise to anyone, as the temperature had dropped increasingly over the past few weeks. When the first soft flakes fell on the castle's high towers, Draco found himself remarkably discontented by the approaching winter. The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling was the recipient of many peevish glances as he filled his cup with golden amber. The steam rising to meet his olfaction had a strong scent of bergamot that for a moment drowned all the other smells of breakfast in the long House Table.

He listened inattentively to the discussion flowing freely around him, not taking part in the excitement the opening of the belated Quidditch season had planted in most of the school's young students. For the first time in years, he had decided not to place a wager on the Slytherin team's victory and was actually starting to question his desire to follow the match from the auditorium after being such an imperative part of the team's foundation. When Potter and Weasley passed the table, he did not join in the whistles and insults his housemates let fly through the draughty air of the Hall. Instead, he folded open the _Daily Prophet_, heading for the usual economy section when the headlines of the front page caught his eye. He quickly found himself mouthing the words of the piece of news in the incessant noise of the Great Hall. His absorption remained unbroken until someone leaned in to his ear and spoke in a soft voice that made Draco flinch nonetheless.

"Attackers of Upper Flagley still at large – fuming Howlers flood Ministry of Magic," Pansy whispered calmly. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

He restrained himself from glancing at her, and turned the page to the ever-altering numbers of the magical stock market. She took a seat on his right, leaning her elbow on the long table's rough wooden surface.

"So what did you figure of the History essay?" she changed the subject effortlessly. "I think I concentrated a bit too much on the provisions and such. I mean, the wars of Muggles have probably had more significant effects on wizarding society than that."

Draco agreed absently. His own hastily composed homework lay at the bottom of his briefcase waiting for a grade no better than Acceptable. It wasn't his lack of interest toward the heading that kept him from concentrating but the fear of it all being a mere creation of his mind. Though he enjoyed studying, he wasn't inclined on doing all his homework twice.

"I suppose you're going to bury yourself in the library again then," Pansy suspected monotonously, continuing after Draco grunted as a reply, "You should come up for air every now and then. People are starting to forget you exist."

He cast a slightly amused glance at Pansy, finding joviality in her exaggerated words.

She leaned in closer before her following words. "Look, I know this Quidditch thing is making you melancholic. Don't you think you should try to distract yourself from it every now and then?" Something about the stress she laid on certain words suggested she wasn't talking merely about Quidditch.

Draco glimpsed at the girl again, a passing thought of the truthfulness of her words piercing his mind. He rolled his eyes a little but nodded all the same.

"I suppose," he muttered and emptied his teacup, leaving the noisy Hall with his friend by his side.

In the manner of the previous weeks, Draco found himself unable to withstand the anaesthetizing effect of professor Binns' monotonous lecture. His thoughts shifted between subjects freely as he leaned his chin on the palm of his hand and let his eyes stare into space. The problems of generations past felt more irrelevant than ever when put side by side with his own, and Draco wished harder than ever before that he had had the distraction of weekly Quidditch practice to keep his mind from trying to understand all the information he had gathered during his long stays in the library. In the past fortnight, he had read more books than the entire past summer, and the knowledge he had collected was by no means altogether consoling in the light of his current situation. More than anything, it had made Draco sleep with one eye open, waiting to fall into the web of another illusion at any given moment. He was always on guard for anything out of the ordinary, as the books had suggested things might appear abnormal, though the most skilfully created illusions were near impossible to tell apart from reality.

The professor's voice called his name through the haze of boredom and concern he had allowed his mind to create. His head jerked upward from the desk it had sunk onto as he asked Binns to repeat the question.

"I was merely wondering if you were paying attention, Mr. Malfoy," the ghost retorted, "and I already got my answer. Ten points from Slytherin."

Professor Binns' words straightened Draco's posture. He turned his eyes back to his book, deciding to at least pretend to read it for the rest of the lesson.

"Is there something more important for you to keep focusing on during these lessons, Mr. Malfoy? This isn't the first time I see you lacking in attention."

"No, professor," he replied lazily, his mind buzzing with thoughts as remote from the lecture as Slytherins were from Gryffindors.

"I better not catch you daydreaming again, Mr. Malfoy. I trust I don't have to remind you this is a NEWT level class."

"No, professor," Draco repeated and turned the page on his book. From the corner of his eye he noticed Granger giving him a glance lined with a deep frown.

Granger's prying eyes followed him to the Great Hall, where they shared all they'd seen with Potter and Weasley, making them direct their attention toward the Slytherin table as well. Draco could feel their gazes as nerve-wrecking prickling on the back of his head, but he kept his own eyes strictly on his Arithmancy book. The subject was among the few things he still trusted to be true, because he knew his own affection to numbers was far greater than any warm feelings Yaxley had toward contorting the realm of reality.

The Hall, that moments before had been droning with the sound of hundreds of students enjoying their lunch, fell silent in an instant when two loud consecutive explosions emanated from the Entrance Hall. Many seemed frightened, but Draco among others sprung to his feet, relinquishing his half-eaten salad by marching, wand at the ready, to the source of the explosions that had continued ever louder. He could sense the professors were already making their way across the Great Hall to solve whatever problem had occurred in the school's large atrium, and hastened his steps to beat them to it. As expected, Potter had not remained seated, but exited the Hall concurrently with Draco with his loyal subordinates by his side.

He recognised the source of the more sinister curses as Vaisey, the Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and the object of his revulsion as Jimmy Peakes, a Gryffindor Beater. The two had engaged in a duel in the middle of the Hall, resulting in a broken window, several black burn marks on the marble staircase and a complete chaos among the younger students, who were now making their way to the safety of the neighbouring rooms, slowing down the professors trying to fight their way through the throng. The vim of the spells drew Draco's attention so powerfully that for a moment he did nothing but stared at the two, hoping in his mind that Peakes' reflexes would falter just once as a strong Conjunctivitus curse parted from the tip of Vaisey's wand. He didn't realise to raise his own until Potter's Shield Charm flew past him to protect the fellow Gryffindor from the unpleasant effects of conjunctivitis. He aimed a strong Disarming Spell on Peakes, hitting him on the left shoulder and making his wand cross the hall in a high arch. He caught it effortlessly, making Potter's attention waver for one decisive moment that left Peakes unprotected from the Stinging Jinx that Vaisey shouted out at that exact moment. The spell hit Peakes' on the neck, causing him to fall on his knees on the floor, holding his neck as red welts and bruises started appearing on his skin. The Slytherins in the Hall cheered out their approval even after Vaisey lost his wand to Granger.

"Don't touch my wand, Mudblood!" Vaisey shouted, notably unaware of the applause he had earned. "Don't touch it, you hear?" he started pacing toward Granger with a look of pure revulsion on his face. "Don't foul it, you disgusting piece of Muggle scum! Give it back to me now!"

Granger's lips had tightened but she made no move toward hexing the lad approaching.

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!" Weasley shouted furiously, pointing his wand at Vaisey, but before he could cast a spell, Draco noticed Potter stepping forward again. He let his reflexes take over as the Stunning Spell hit his own Shield Charm an inch before it reached Vaisey's fuming figure. The boy kept walking toward Granger despite either until he was eventually stopped by his own Head of House. Snape had reached the boy and was now escorting him toward the staircase leading to his office.

"I won't go until you take my wand from that filthy cunt!" Vaisey's shouting echoed clear above the uproar of the Hall.

"Detention, Mr. Vaisey!" McGonagall screamed from Peakes' side, looking more outraged than ever. A swift flick of her wrist put an end to the Stunning Spell Potter had cast in Draco's direction.

"That blood traitor deserved it! He and all you blood traitors deserve a lot more and trust me, that's exactly what you'll get!" The boy kept bellowing his insults. "You're scum and filth! You're nothing!"

"Get that boy out of here, Snape!" McGonagall yelled, treating Peakes' injuries all the while. "Get him out of here right this instant!"

The door to the stairs that led to the dungeons closed with a loud bang, reducing Vaisey's rudeness a notch from the ear-splitting volume he had kept up earlier. His words were still audible for a long time, making McGonagall's face grow grimmer by the second.

"Give me that wand, Malfoy," Potter growled at Draco angrily. He hadn't even noticed the other approaching.

Draco looked at Peakes' wand he was still holding in his hand, and then at his fellow Slytherins clearly waiting for him nearby, and even though he had sworn to play nice with Potter that year, he was all but inclined to giving the wand up without a fight of some variety.

"Don't you think it would be better if I gave it to Reeks – I mean, Peakes myself?" he said, making his attempts to hold back his laughter obvious. The Slytherins listening to them didn't bother to smother theirs. "You don't strike me as the most reliable type, you see, and we wouldn't want little Jimmy's wand getting lost, now would we? Not in the times we're living."

Potter's whole face seemed to tense with bottled-up rage. "Give. Me. That. Wand," he repeated slowly, gritting his teeth so tightly the words were barely perceptible.

Draco glanced again at his House mates before he sneered. "No, I don't think I will, actually." He smiled malevolently at Potter's rage, knowing what any attempt from his part to curse Draco would look like in McGonagall's eyes. "I think I'd very much like to see you fetch it," he declared before throwing the wand up to the second floor.

Potter seemed to be at the verge of exploding as Draco turned on his heels, joined his House mates and headed to the Slytherin common room for the remainder of his lunch break.

"What do you think they'll do to Vaisey?" someone asked quietly as they reached the large dungeon-like room.

Draco shrugged. "Probably just take points and give him detention," he ventured a guess. "Or then they'll expel him, which will of course be a scandal and an outrage, and cause many complaints among the Board of Governors and result to Vaisey's expulsion doing more harm than good. I'd consider it a win-win situation," he explained his opinion as he took a seat on one of the sofas. "The main focus here is that Vaisey had a right to say and do what he did. Why should we respect other people's views on the expense of our own anyway?" He pulled the morning's _Daily Prophet_ from his bag and eyed it lazily. "Those people have spent so long talking about equality the word has lost all meaning."

People around him seemed to agree as they took seats around him again.

"Mark my words, Reeks will get a far less severe punishment than Vaisey." He then muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "That's just how these people work. The cruellest punishments always fall on those with the strongest convictions."

The others mumbled in accord, several of them eyeing the _Prophet's _headline anxiously. Draco turned the page and glanced at it himself.

"That alone proves it," he snorted deridingly. "The Ministry is meddling with things it should just accept as a given in this world."

He turned to the economy section, very pleased to find that had he followed his business instinct and invested a hundred Galleons on the pharmaceutical company of his choice, he'd have tripled the amount by lunchtime.

"They say they have a source," Bletchley interrupted Draco's self-satisfied thoughts.

Draco snorted loudly. "I highly doubt that, Miles," he voiced with an air of finalising certainty, "and even if they did, I'm sure the problem would be mended in no time."

The truth was Draco didn't know any better than his House mates what the situation with the Attackers of Upper Flagley was. It had been a fortnight since any word from his ordained allies had reached him, but still he drew a knowing smile on his face and leaned back on the sofa, seemingly at ease with everything surrounding him. Many in the Slytherin house were deeply unnerved by the events, and worried for the well-being of their relatives who had participated in the attack. Draco didn't share their worries. His only fear was that the commotion caused by the episode might thwart the development of his status.

"Have you heard something then?" Miles kept pressing the matter. "Something the rest of us haven't?"

Draco sneered. "I just might have, Miles," he fibbed calmly. "I just might."

The other lad seemed convinced by this, and the subject changed for the remainder of their lunch hour. Draco's attention faltered again, and his thoughts remained in the fight he had just witnessed in the Entrance Hall. The outbursts of discord that sometimes occurred in the school were usually not quite as violent, and Draco knew it was only the beginning now. Things would culminate before long, maybe even sooner than anyone anticipated, and the tension that had been gradually building for years was about to condense and implode, and he wasn't altogether sure how close to the centre he wanted to be when it happened.

When he got to the dungeons after his Arithmancy lesson, Draco found his spirit elevated by the challenging and highly practical examples they had worked on with professor Vector, the one teacher other than his own head of house toward whom he still felt any respect. Even Granger's continuous curiosity toward his doings hadn't disturbed him as he wrote down number after another, counting interests for loans and deposits. To him there was little in the world as reassuring as figuring out how much he could earn by doing absolutely nothing. His smile didn't fade until someone hit him hard on the back with a school bag.

"Out of my way, Malfoy," Thomas grunted and made his way in the classroom. Without a moment's hesitation Draco pulled out his wand and cast a jinx that left the Gryffindor lying flat on the cold stone floor. His housemates patted him on the back on their way in the dungeon.

"Settle down," Snape called from the front of the room, causing the commotion among the students to subside.

Draco took his usual seat in the second row of desks on the right side of Pansy's, who had failed to materialise with the rest of the class._ He looked at her empty seat and felt a rush of anxiousness surging through his body. His thoughts revisited the earlier hours of the day as he looked for anything else out of the ordinary. Pansy's nonattendance had been the indicator a fortnight ago and instantaneously Draco's thoughts took a route of reversed psychology and back and forth arguments. He could feel his armpits starting to itch from sweat as he glanced around disconcertedly to see what else about the circumstances was incongruous. When he noticed Granger too hadn't joined her fellow Gryffindors to grace the dungeon with her disputed womanly charms, his breath waned to the point of being as absent as the two. Without further reflection Draco raised his hand and excused himself to the nearest lavatory._

_He leaned his sweaty hands on the edge of the washbasin and left the water pouring out of the silver spigot as he fixed his eyes on the cold grey ones of his likeness. _

_"This isn't real," he told his image, closing his eyes in anticipation of a change in the milieu. "It's just a test, it's not real."_

_He opened his eyes to the same copy of his countenance he had observed earlier. His hands struck the basin goaded by his discontent and a whispered swear fled his mouth in a silent hiss drowned by the sound of the running water._

_"Contemptible," he denounced forcedly. "Is this how you prove yourself worthy?"_

_The enquiry went unrequited. Draco's teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his wand plugged up the gushing water and he left the bathroom, incensed by the unwavering situation and his own incapability to control it._

_"Talking to ourselves, are we, Malfoy?"_

_Draco turned on his heels the second Potter's voice started straining his ears. _

_"I'm actually surprised it took you this long to reach that stage of psychosis," the Gryffindor remarked, abandoning his previous place behind the bathroom door. "Or is it something you have to do to be able to -"_

_"Is there a reason you're stalking me, Potter?" Draco interrupted the other. "Beside the fact that you're deranged and pathetic beyond any verbal expression."_

_In his mind Draco was wondering how much of his words the other had heard._

_Potter snorted, continuing like Draco's words never existed. "I'm going to find out what you're up to," he told him in a matter-of-factly way. For a moment Draco considered asking Potter how he knew Draco was up to anything at all, but it seemed pointless. _

_"I have no business with you, Potter," he informed the other and started walking toward the dungeon again, "so I've decided to learn to ignore you. I suggest you do the same." _

_The arguing voices from further along the corridor made him stop before he could take another step. Potter had remained in his previous position by the lavatory door, and was looking for the source of the sounds as well. The loudening quarrel led to the appearance of Pansy and Granger, deep in disagreement as they made their way toward the classroom. _

_"As I said before, Granger, you have no idea what you're talking about," Pansy spat the words to the other girl behind her back, coming to a halt at the sight of Draco and Potter._

_"What are you doing here?" she asked Draco, who nodded toward the bathroom without a word. Seeing her put his racing mind at ease but with it came a sense of disappointment. If there was no illusion, it meant the persistent silence of his allies hadn't abated._

_"Come on," he told her and gave Potter a glare before walking back to the dungeon. He waited until they were back on their seats before asking her where she had been._

_"Granger," she whispered when the two Gryffindors entered and had points taken for being late. "She came to talk to me in the library."_

_"What did she want?" Draco murmured back while adding the lionfish spine to his concoction. _

_"Not here," Pansy replied quietly, glancing around the room. "I'll explain it later."_

_Draco nodded in agreement, resisting the spike in his curiosity Pansy's statement had caused. He could almost hear Potter and Granger going through the motions of the exact same conversation. _

_In Draco's opinion the lesson didn't end a second too early. As soon as the bell rang, summoning all student body to dinner Draco took Pansy by the arm and led her not in the direction of the Great Hall, but toward the Slytherin common room. He chose their usual seats in the corner by the fire and sat the girl down, ignoring her weary sigh and mumbles of discreetness. _

_"I went to the library after the History lessons to find that book Binns told us about," she started, sounding almost indifferent about the matter, "and I ran into Granger. She started talking to me right out of the blue, about the homework at first, but then she started insinuating things."_

_"What kind of things?" he asked, not incorrect in anticipating it had something to do with him._

_"She told me she had read about the lives of pure-blood witches and she didn't think it right that I should end up like one," Pansy explained, gazing around the room. "She said I had too much of a brain to end up as a trophy wife. And then she let me understand there might be other options open for me."_

_Draco let out a laugh a bit louder than he had intended. "What did you say?" he asked, amused by the mere thought of such an encounter between the two house rivals. _

_"I told her to bugger off and mind her own business," Pansy informed, leaning her back on the green velvet of her chair. "Of course she kept pushing it, you know what those people are like."_

_"Yes, no sense of decency what-so-ever," Draco mumbled almost more to himself. "If she approaches you again-"_

_"Don't you even think about giving me orders, Draco!" the girl suddenly exclaimed. "I have too much of a brain not to think for myself."_

_She got up and exited the room, flashing a grin before pushing open the door. Before she could disappear from his eyes her shape was replaced by Blaise's which made its way straight to the chair Pansy had left empty. _

_"Quite a wrangle at the Entrance Hall earlier I hear" he laughed. "Too bad I wasn't there, could've given Reeks a bit more than just bruises."_

_"Your attendance wasn't required," Draco sneered, picking his bag up from the floor as he got on his feet. "Though some of us might wonder where you were this morning." _

_"Yeah, I was-"_

_"Did I say I was the one wondering?" Draco asked amusedly before leaving the room. _

_He made his way back to the centre of the morning's aggravated assault and joined Pansy for dinner in the Great Hall. He took a seat on her left, peering at the cover of the book she was reading. _

_"__Testimonies__on Levitation__?" he asked incredulously. "Wasn't that book just on __The New Longside Gazette's __list of the worst books of the 20__th__ century?"_

_Pansy nodded absently. "It's the book Binns was talking about," she reminded him. "A fact you would know if you bothered to pay any attention these days."_

_Draco grabbed a nearby dish and mounted a generous helping of fried mushrooms on his plate before reaching for the fish. _

_"He said he's considering it to be among the obligatory books for the course," the girl went on with her forkful of lamb still in mid air. "He said you shouldn't even dream of an O if you're not bothered to do extra-curricular reading in your spare time." _

_"I'd rather get an E than read that," Draco scoffed. "Neil MacHammond wrote that book is impossible to read while remaining conscious." _

_Pansy sneered. "I hate to be the one to tell you this but your hero exaggerates in most of his writings," she assured. "It's not impossible to read. Just a bit tedious."_

_Draco shook his head. "Neil MacHammond cannot be wrong about things," he claimed. "Every book he's raved about has been amazing. I refuse to accept that his good taste could falter." _

_"Yes, all three of the books he's raved about that you've bothered to read," Pansy laughed. "Admit it, it's about __Harry Was A Harlowe Beast__ again, isn't it?"_

_"It's seven, thank you very much, and I don't understand why you won't just admit that it's the greatest book ever written," he went on while filling half of his plate with green beans._

_"It's a too long, rambling, overly extravagant book with a confusing plot and a dissatisfying conclusion," she repeated her usual arguments. "It's extremely difficult to relate to the protagonist and the thousand pages of not-so-impressive philosophical arguments make the book almost as interesting as this one." She emphasised by waving her library finding in front of the lad's face. "How you managed to go through it five times is beyond me."_

_Draco gathered a collection of all food groups on his fork before continuing, "It is the most imaginative and detailed description of what life has been like for pure-blooded wizards during the past four centuries," he protested. "Not only is the protagonist highly relatable, he's also an inspiration in his evident manifestation for self-improvement and untiring sense of morale."_

_"All it manifests is irresponsible use of a Time-Turner," Pansy shot back. "Besides, it completely ignores all historically important events and dwells on some irrelevant mythological phenomena that can't even be proved to have happened."_

_"It does not completely ignore-" Draco started, but a thought flashed through his mind that changed his focus completely. The word mythological had awakened some notion in his mind and a passage of his favourite book suddenly emerged from the depths of his subconscious. His fork fell on his plate with a loud clang as he grabbed his briefcase and sprung to his feet._

_"Where are you going?" Pansy shouted after him, but he just waved a hasty good-bye before descending back into the dormitories. He pulled open his trunk, pushing aside the extra parchment and quills he had brought with him until he found his copy of __Harry Was A Harlowe Beast__. He flipped through the pages frantically until he found the chapter he had been looking for. Without any awareness from his part his mouth moved along with the words on the page as his eyes searched the sea of letters and words for the sentence he couldn't help reading aloud._

_"__And in his infinite need and yearning he expanded his quest to the commencing of an early age, but what he there found were only morbid men with morbid names, striking down the joys of mankind with their indulgences, that appeared to him atrocious and unnatural, and so he averted his gaze and left, until the end of his days scarred by what he had heard and witnessed__."_

_He got up from his kneeling position on the floor and sat on his bed, the book still open in his lap. "Morbid men with morbid names," he repeated, his mind swarming with realisations. He reached for his schoolbag, pulling out his history book and opening it in a random page near the end. He turned the pages until he found the timeline, which he followed with his index finger all the way to the heading "Early Age"._

_"An era of growing interaction with Muggles (mostly in the form of witch hunts) and between various wizarding communities in an incipiently international level," Draco read aloud again. "Often seen to have begun with the witch hunts of 1480s and ended with the passing of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692." _

_Something in Draco's mind adhered to the word morbid in an almost desperate attempt to remember why it was important. _

_"Something morbid," he thought aloud. "Why does it seem to matter so much?"_

_He closed both of the books in his lap hesitantly and returned them to their places, his head still ringing with the ill-omened word. He had a feeling it had more to do with him than one might think but no matter how hard he tried the question did not unravel._

_He walked back to the common room he had rushed through earlier, noting only now how tense the atmosphere had become. Even the youngest students seemed to have abandoned their homework and were instead sitting in formless discussion groups, deep in conversation. They all kept glancing at the middle of the room where Draco's eyes next directed themselves. _

_Vaisey was sitting on one of the dark green leather sofas leaning his elbows on his school trunk. Around him had gathered a mass of pupils Draco quickly joined. The conversation was much quieter here, and walking toward the miserable figure in the middle of it all felt strangely like walking into the eye of a storm. _

_"They expelled you then?" Draco asked gravely and the other lad nodded. _

_"I'm just waiting for Snape," Vaisey grunted. "He'll escort me out of the school grounds." There was blatant mockery in his voice. "But you know what? Fuck this," Vaisey spat, leaning his back on the sofa. "My folks have already made a complaint. I'll be back before Potter faints, just you wait."_

_Draco scoffed at the undeviating inside joke and held out his hand which Vaisey took, slightly surprised by the gesture._

_"It's been great having you here, Vaisey," Draco noted courteously. "And remember, there's always Durmstrang."_

The lad laughed benevolently and let go of Draco's hand. The two of them had had very little dealings during their previous years, but the recent events seemed to have made Draco a representative for the whole House and it felt like his duty to be there for this sort of events.

"Pisses me off to leave the team though," Vaisey told him. "There's not a lot of time to find a replacement."

"I'd say Quidditch is the least of our concerns," Draco sighed as he realised that most of the Slytherins present didn't understand what had happened along with Vaisey's expulsion. "You do realise that along with this the authorities of this school have practically announced that there is no room in this establishment for our opinions and our beliefs." These words were addressed to the entire room. "Not only are they evicting a vital member of the single most important group inside our House, the group that beyond any other shapes the way this House is being viewed by outsiders, they're also telling us to assimilate." The last word came out as a poisonous hiss that astounded even Draco himself. Most of his House mates were now facing him, wearing nearly identical frowns. "They're ordering us to adapt to their ideals, _their_ conceptions of the world," he went on, his voice loudening from irritation. "I for one won't stand for that," he announced. "I'm telling you now for as long as I live and breathe, I will not conform, I will not adjust and I will not assimilate."

The sneer that followed these words seemed to echo in the quiet room, making Draco swing around to face the lanky form of the potions master. "Admirable fervour," Snape commented on his words as he walked further into the room, "but unfortunately quite beside the point."

Draco felt a sting of displeasure that was directly related to being interrupted. Having everyone's attention felt more important than ever, and he was afraid Snape would say something to crush his argument.

"I suggest you all calm down," Snape said in that magical tone that could quieten even the Quidditch pitch during a game between Slytherin and Gryffindor. "Mr. Vaisey's expulsion is only temporary, and I wouldn't advise anyone to read too much into it."

"Why? Did Peaks get expelled?" Draco inquired defiantly, setting off a sea of murmur among his peers.

"Mr. Peaks was seen to be less culpable when it comes to this day's events," Snape explained, and the murmur grew louder. "Mr. Peakes was less aggressive in his attack and therefore detention was considered to be a more appropriate punishment."

"Considered by whom, exactly?" Draco now asked. "Our dear headmaster and deputy headmistress, no doubt, both of whom, might I add, are former Gryffindors." His accusations found resonance in his fellow Slytherins.

"Professor McGonagall is the Head of Gryffindor House. Her presence was of the essence."

"Is it just me or does this school suddenly seem unable to treat its students in an equal and rightful manner?" Draco asked. Some of the crowd voiced out their agreement in his support.

"What may appear as unjust is merely the direct consequence of your own actions," Snape lectured sternly. "Not least of all yours, Mr. Malfoy, since I remember seeing you participating."

Despite his relentless effort, Draco couldn't prevent the emerging of the pale blotchy blush that soon covered his cheeks.

"I suggest you all seek for other ways to express your frustration," the professor expressed in his most authoritative tone, "before you lose the remaining members of your Quidditch team."

Vaisey, who had remained silent on his seat, got up and shook Draco's hand again. He looked almost as thoroughly disappointed as Draco himself felt.

"Maybe you were right," he said before switching his grip on the handle of his school trunk. "About Durmstrang, that is."

Draco nodded slowly. "I'd give it some thought if I were you," he advised. "Anywhere seems better than here at the moment."

Vaisey agreed with a mumble before picking up his things and following his Head of House out of the common room, for all everyone knew for the very last time. After the door swung closed without a sound, the silence of the room remained unwavering. Draco took a seat on the spot that Vaisey had left empty and sighed. Regardless of their disagreement Draco knew not to place blame on Snape. There was no question about whether the professor had done all he could to revoke the retribution. No, the one to blame could not be of Slytherin association.

Slowly the chatter of the room recurred in a hushed version of its glory days. Draco leaned his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands. For the first time during his years in the school the castle beyond the green and silver chambers seemed uninviting even to the point of appearing openly hostile.

His hands remained in the position of covering his eyes until the sofa bent under the weight someone laid on the cushion on his right. He looked up at Harper who patted him on the shoulder in what seemed like an attempt of camaraderie.

"I just wanted to say that I totally see eye to eye with you on this," the lad spoke and for Draco's great relief removed his hand before he needed to demand it of him. He had held a slight dislike for Harper ever since he had replaced him as Seeker in the Quidditch team.

"Glad to hear it," he snorted.

"If you ask me, we really need to start standing up for ourselves. You know, even the ones of us who aren't quite as lucky as you." The lad winked. "Everyone's still talking about it. Some of the first years are completely terrified."

Draco let out a laugh. It didn't come as a surprise after all the evasive action the youngest students had taken not to cross paths with him.

"You're right about what you said about assimilating," Harper went on. "It's obvious that's what they really want. A world where we all just marry Muggles and produce the same filth they themselves have become. I think it's our number one goal to make sure that doesn't happen."

Draco looked at him, his aversion slightly surpassed by what he had heard. "You should discuss this with your friends, make sure they all agree," he recommended as he got on his feet.

"They do," Harper told him, "and they look up to you. We all do."

Light wrinkles appeared on Draco's forehead with the frown he couldn't help wearing. As he glanced around the common room before exiting, he noticed many eyes were still on him, observing him from a respectful distance.

The overwhelming stench of mould, rotting timber and dust invaded his dreams, filling them with living forests and things that followed him in the dark, always staying behind his back, hissing and rasping. The cold breath of air that kept slashing his face was a living thing, and in his mind somehow connected to whatever it was that would not be seen by him. The trees moved closer and closer with every turn he made to prepare for the attack he knew was being planned against him, and as the hissing reached the proximity of his right ear, he woke up so suddenly it took him a while to recognise he was no longer asleep, and that he had omitted the obscure space between reverie and reality. His heartbeat had fastened so unexpectedly he feared the organ might explode in his chest.

The first thought in his racing mind was to find out what time it was, but when his twitching fingers reached out and wrapped themselves around a bouquet of dead leaves instead of his silver pocket watch he started to come in terms with his resting place no longer being the tidily made bed he had crawled into at the end of his habitual spell and curse casting practice. He dropped the damp leaves back on the table, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand before taking another look at the place he had ended up in without any initiative. Firstly he noticed being fully dressed in neat robes that smelled of home, completed with black leather shoes he usually wore paired with his dress robes. He didn't want to stop and think how his nightwear had suddenly turned into that unsuited ensemble, and so he got on his feet and reached for his wand, lighting the tip of it as soon as it was out of his pocket.

The spell hit the edges of a small room that as far as the furniture went had no decipherable purpose. A worn out armchair had been pushed over beside the undersized table on which Draco's head had been resting mere moments before. Behind the shaky chair he had been sitting on were a small stove and above it a broken shelf with a few grimy and rusty pots and pans still providing evidence that the area had once been used for cooking. The leaves of summers past littered the floor, covering everything the residents had left behind. The cold breeze blew in from the shattered window, going around the room in a swift gush that left Draco shivering in his robes. After the rustling of the leaves faded, the house fell dead silent.

He followed the light of his wand to a narrow doorway on the right of a soot-drenched fireplace, the hem of his robes making a hissing noise on the dead leaves as he walked toward it. The sound made him remember the dream he had had earlier and he shuddered again. The cold air had chased off his exhaustion and as he sneaked forward, wand at the ready, he could feel the intoxicating rush of adrenaline surging through his body. He quickly reminded himself what he was there for, and that absolutely anything could be waiting for him in the dark, kept silent only by the instincts of a born predator. His hold on his only weapon tightened automatically as he passed the frames, setting his foot on the door that had been ripped down from its hinges. Slowly he let his eyes scan the room, but beside the lump of stalk and feathers barely distinguishable as a former bed, the room was empty.

A soft clinking sound rose out of the silence so unexpectedly Draco needed to wait for its recurrence before following it through the only other doorway leading away from the room in which he had come round. He was expecting illuminating the razor-sharp teeth of a hungry beast or the spotless white loins of a Unicorn, waiting for him to drink from it to obtain some sort of powers he didn't already possess. Instead the bright beam hit the bolding head of a man whom Draco couldn't say to have met before. He was in his sixties, streaks of grey among the remainder of his dark hair, sporting a chestnut-coloured waistcoat over a white collar shirt with trousers identical in tint to the stone wall to which he had been chained. The light of Draco's wand bounced of his bifocal glasses as he moved it from one shackle to another, his brow lined with a deep frown of uncertainty.

"He-Hello," the man stammered. It was difficult to determine from his tone whether it was a greeting or a question.

Draco let the spell sweep the edges of the miniscule room. Only two pieces of furniture had survived the shack being abandoned, an unsteady chair similar to the one in the kitchen, and a badly beaten cabinet that missed two of its three drawers. An assortment of candles had been laid on top of it, and without thinking twice Draco passed his hand in front of them, making the small flames appear to the strange man's ultimate horror.

"Y-You!" he exclaimed, backing as far away from Draco as he could without sinking into the wall behind him. His voice was thin and breathless, like he had been going too long without a sip to drink. "You're one of them!"

After this fearful articulation he started screaming for help, banging the shackles against the stones for a while before his voice broke into violent coughs that had him crouching down on the floor. Draco returned to the kitchen, reaching for one of the grubby pots that had stayed on the cracked shelf. He quickly rinsed it with the Aguamenti Charm before filling it halfway, and taking it to the man, who drank greedily with large gulps, grimacing when he finally laid the pot down. This act of decency from Draco's part seemed to have assured him he was in no immediate danger, and he leaned to the wall, breathless but collected.

"I don't suppose that'll do me much good in the long run," he scoffed. "Not once you lot get started."

Draco took a seat on the chair, still equally perplexed by the situation as he had been on entering the last of the three rooms. The candles cast their soft, dim light around the room, making their shadows flicker on the walls. Draco reached for his other pocket, pleasantly surprised in finding a watch. He examined the clock face in the insufficient light. It was a quarter past midnight.

"You," said the man now. "What's your name?"

Draco glanced up, unsure whether to answer the question or not. His indecisiveness seemed to show on his face, for the man let out another laugh.

"Much harm it could do you, telling your name to a dead man," he countered, his head hitting the wall in exhausted despair. "This is the end of the line for me, and I don't even know why."

Draco gritted his teeth as his undersupplied pool of empathy proved its existence. This man had been brought there purposefully, and it didn't take Draco a lot to figure out what the outcome of the night would be. So he decided to remain level-headed and as taciturn as possible, resting his back on the chair that protested discordantly.

"I've had a good life," the man went on. "There were times when I thought it could've been better but as years went by I learned to appreciate it, the hardships."

Another gush of wind reached the interiors of the house, making the door swing miserably on its hinges and creak downheartedly.

"Such a lonely childhood," he kept sharing, his eyes staring into space and it seemed to Draco he was talking more to himself now. He took another glance at the pocket watch even though he knew only a few minutes had passed. "My mother raised me by herself. There were a lot of us those days; the war had taken so many fathers. But I was the only one who had never known his. It took my mother ages before she told me anything, anything at all, even when I was the one most harmed by his absence."

"Who brought you here?" Draco suddenly inquired, hoping it would help him make sense of the situation. "What did they look like?"

The man turned his dark, moist eyes at him, staring at him for a long time, so long in fact that Draco didn't think he'd get a comprehensible reply out of him. The man cleared his throat, however, and explained astonishingly calmly what had happened.

"It was just one man," he muttered, "dressed like you, in those weird cloak-like things. I was taking my evening walk when he came toward me, and everything went dark. I must've fainted, but for what reason is beyond me. I believe he drugged me, for I remember a magnificent feeling of euphoria taking over me before I woke up in here, chained to this wall and he was sitting there on that chair, pointing at the candles with a twig and they just lit up."

"What did he look like?" Draco asked again, but the man didn't react.

"I swear, I saw no light on that stick he was holding but somehow the fire just appeared. It was like magic, he just pointed at them and they-"

"What did he look like?" he repeated louder, his suspicions on the man's non-magical status confirmed. The Muggle turned his eyes on him again, looking bewildered, like he had forgotten he wasn't alone in the room.

"Tall," he rasped, "dark and rugged. As soon as I saw him I knew he was up to no good."

"Yaxley," Draco hissed. The man looked at him inquiringly. "Did he say anything?" he now asked, and the other nodded.

"He called me names," he huffed, "but I didn't know what they meant. He told me to be quiet, and that he'd be back with someone who'd deal with me."

Draco sighed in annoyance, taking a look at the time again.

"It's you, isn't it?" His voice quivered restlessly. "You're the one who's supposed to deal with me."

Draco got up and left the room, the vulgar turn of phrase fixed to his mind like a fly to a Sticking Charm. He walked outside to take in the frosty air and to wait for Yaxley in silence. A few flakes of snow fell through the bare branches of the surrounding trees that the wind swayed gently back and forth. He took a few steps away from the surprisingly whole front door, eyeing the shack in a displeased manner. He tried to imagine it in its former glory, but even with the vision of fixed windows and a fresh coat of paint, it was difficult to imagine people living there. Draco wondered whose house it was, and why he had been brought here of all places, when he heard a soft rustling of leaves from around the corner. He pulled his wand at once, but before he could take a step to meet his opponent, a scrawny fox sprinted to the light and hurried past the yard. Draco cursed quietly as he pushed his wand back in his pocket.

"Didn't Barty teach you something about constant vigilance?" The voice spoke out so abruptly it mad Draco jump.

"For fuck's sake!" he blurted, grabbing a hold of the chest of his robes. "Why the fuck do you have to sneak around like that?" he snapped at the man, who laughed vindictively.

"Seems the word on the street is accurate, you're much too lily-livered for this," Yaxley voiced his opinion, earning a death glare from Draco.

"You're late," he muttered, eyeing the watch again. "I got here half an hour ago."

"You must mean you came round half an hour ago," the man pointed out, "because the truth is you have no way of knowing how long you've been here, or what's happened to you while you've been having your little lie-down."

Draco gritted his teeth, looking daggers at Yaxley who let out a bark of laughter, making his way into the shack. Draco followed him reluctantly, visualizing a curse leaving his wand and digging a hollow in Yaxley's back.

"Get up, you scum!" Yaxley spat at the Muggle as soon as he reached him, placing a kick in the man's soft abdomen. The old man bent over, gasping with tear-filled eyes. "Honestly, these animals..." he muttered while taking a seat on the chair that nearly cracked under his weight. He pulled an old, moth-eaten handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tip of his shoe ferociously before throwing the cloth away and setting it on fire with a well-aimed spell. The blaze of it burning lit up the room, making Yaxley's eyes glow in the shade of light ochre as he turned them on Draco, looking expectant.

"Well?" he asked demandingly, nodding at the Muggle.

Draco stared back at him, guessing well what was expected of him, but reluctant to act without orders.

Yaxley let out a frustrated groan. "He's a coward _and_ an imbecile," he muttered to himself, getting up from his seat and raising his wand. The old Muggle tried to escape to the corner, but the chains would not reach that far.

"Please!" he shouted hysterically. "Please don't hurt me, I'll do anything-"

"Shut it!" Yaxley bellowed. "Why would I want anything from you, you little shit?" He cast three violent explosions on the floor near the man's feet. He backed away, howling in panic as he did. "Settle down, and shut your mouth before I shut it for you!"

The man's high-pitched whimpering made Draco screw his face up. It reminded him of the way babies cried in the sole purpose of drawing anyone's attention.

"Now," Yaxley started, sounding so calm it seemed he had switched personalities, "there are things you don't learn at school, and turns out it's my job to teach them to you."

Draco's pulse quickened instantly, and his hold on his wand tensed. Many of the critical moments in his life had gone by unnoticed, but this time he was painfully aware of the barrier he was about to cross. After this night he would be a delinquent, no longer a blameless onlooker of the events. This was the night he shook off whatever remnants of his childhood he had left, tying himself even more irreversibly to the ongoing battle. If any authorities found out about it, he'd be sent to Azkaban for the remainder of his life which, given the prison's appalling conditions, wouldn't turn out to be very long.

"Won't the Ministry be notified?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

Yaxley shook his head. "They won't find us here," he answered, looking around the room almost absently. He kept quiet for a moment, deep in his thoughts about some matter or another, before turning back to Draco. "You know the incantations, right?" he asked, and the other nodded, slightly insulted by the question. "Good," Yaxley muttered. "Saves me the trouble."

He turned back to the Muggle with a look of loathing on his face. "How 'bout a little demonstration then?" he asked and lifted his wand, shouting out the word that made the curse split the darkness before landing on the old man stooping on the floor. At once his eyes went blank, like someone had turned a switch in his brain. Draco watched as the man got up from the floor and started banging his head against the wall as calmly as if Yaxley had ordered him to write a letter or drink a glass of water. He counted eleven hits before Yaxley lifted the curse and the man fell down on the floor, holding his head and wiping the trickle of blood that had started running down the length of his nose.

"Your turn then," the wizard instructed, taking a seat on the chair again.

Draco stepped forward, trying his best to hide the trembling of his legs as he positioned himself in front of the man, who turned his pleading eyes on him.

"Please," he started. "I beg of you, my children-"

"Quiet," Yaxley ordered firmly. "Go on then," he persisted. "Show us there's some use for you."

Draco cleared his throat. His heart sent his blood racing through him so fast he was starting to get light-headed despite the deep breaths of air he tried to pull in. He lifted his wand, gluing his eyes on his target. A rush of terrified excitement surged through him with the power of a train in full speed and he closed his eyes for a second as a euphoric smile curved his lips.

"_Imperio_!"

As soon as the curse landed on the sagging chest of his living mark of practice, Draco's consciousness filled with an enthralling mixture of dominance and supremacy. The concrete power he had over another living thing trapped him in a shell of ecstasy from which he wanted to find no escape. He could feel his core being loosely linked to another, an essence so much his inferior he felt like laughing, amused by the pitiful state of existence the other was bound to. The curse flowed down his veins to the tips of his fingers, using his wand of hawthorn and unicorn hair as a gate into the lesser human now completely at his mercy or, should he so decide, the lack thereof.

"_Get on your feet,_" his mind formed the command that the Muggle followed instantly without even dreaming about the possibility of resistance. "_Bow._"

The old man bent his body obediently, a sight that sent a pleasurable shiver charging down from Draco's neck, which he then stretched, letting out a long sigh that seemed to oust all the tension and unpleasantness he had carried on his shoulders for weeks.

"This is good," he whispered aloud. "I want to keep doing this."

He could hear Yaxley making a sound, but he didn't care to resolve the feeling or thought behind it. Instead he focused on a new command.

"_Tell me your name._"

"Tobias Pennock," the man replied in a monotonous tone. The blood pouring from his wound had reached his chin, dividing his face and making him look like a gruesome marionette.

"_Tell me your date of birth_."

"October 14th 1934."

Draco let out a chuckle as his mind came up with another demand.

"_Tell me you're a subhuman and a complete waste of space,"_ he ordered, the other's degradation his ultimate contentment.

"I'm a subhuman and a complete waste of space," the man repeated obediently.

"Alright, you've had your fun now," Yaxley informed him, his voice coming to him like from deep underwater. When the curse faded from him, Draco was left with the lingering sensation of authority that made him stretch his shoulders again. The experience had made him so blissful he didn't even care to feel ashamed of the effects of it on his body being relatively inappropriate.

"Can I do it again?" he asked Yaxley at once, his eyes lighting up with the mere thought. The Muggle looked at him, visibly revolted by his request, and Yaxley snorted.

"We need to be moving on," he said. "There's no point in practising something you can already manage."

Draco felt his heart sink. For the first time in his life he was made melancholic by the aspects of his personality that made him a natural leader.

"What are you doing to me?" the Muggle whispered. "Why me? What have I done?"

Yaxley laughed malignantly. "You should be grateful!" he mocked the man. "You're here by personal request, and not a many of your kind can say that."

"But why?" he sobbed. "What have I done to you?"

Yaxley shrugged indifferently. "When I get my orders I know not to ask any questions," he declared matter-of-factly. "Now shut it. Some of us want to get their bit done and get out of here."

"But I just want to know-"

Yaxley jumped up from his seat and the man tried to disappear among the shadows in the corner. The wizard sat back down and spat on the floor.

"You know what's next, don't you?" he asked Draco without turning his eyes away from the man called Tobias Pennock, who snivelled miserably, leaving dark stains in the fabric of his waistcoat. "But you've already had a taste of that, haven't you?" Yaxley's voice was thick with ridicule.

"No. Please don't," the Muggle whined, raising a sadistic smile on the wizard's lips.

"Don't worry, he's still in training," Yaxley taunted. "You'll have plenty of time to get used to it before it comes unbearable. Trust me, this one won't accomplish much on the first try."

Yaxley's words made Draco grit his teeth defiantly. To him the thought of himself performing an adequate Cruciatus Curse on first attempt sounded far from the ludicrous Yaxley obviously believed it to be. The blissful aftertaste of the Imperius Curse had started to wear off, and Draco was already impatient for his second fix.

"_Crucio!_" he shouted excitedly, but instead of sending his involuntary target writhing in agony he merely flinched, letting out a quiet yelp.

Yaxley's expressions of amusement sounded like an explosion in the quiet house and Draco was almost sure they could be heard by anyone in a five mile radius. The man fell about, wiping the corners of his eyes as his laughter finally diminished into a less audible cackling.

"Now this I'll be sure to report back!" he howled in his fit of hilarity. "Greyback's always saying you'd be more use as his packed lunch but he's never had anything to prove it with!"

Draco's teeth pushed into each other so forcefully he could feel his gums giving in and his fist closed around his wand so tightly he was surprised it didn't snap in half. He waited for Yaxley to regain hold of himself, trembling with the rage he wasn't allowed to express.

"This one's not about you feeling good, you brat," the wizard preached, the corners of his mouth still twitching from the memory. "It's about that piece of scum there feeling as much pain as you choose to make him feel."

Draco frowned, fighting away the awareness that the man on the floor was a living thing who had never consciously done anything to deserve his resentment.

"That's the real thrill," Yaxley assured, a mad light nesting behind his dark eyes. "The Imperius Curse is nothing compared to this. You'll see."

The lad took his previous position again, staring at the hunched figure of Tobias Pennock.

"Just look at it," Yaxley remarked loathingly, his eyes like Draco's fixed on the being that was so unlike the two of them. "Just seeing them turns my stomach. So weak and pathetic." He spat on the floor again. "All you have to do is take one look and you know they're a perversion of nature. The whole species should be annihilated."

Draco closed his eyes to concentrate. His mind was droning with everything he had ever been told about Muggles, the stories from his childhood where they were always coming up to the Manor from the nearby village to take him away and raise him in a perfect absence of magic if he didn't behave. He remembered the first time he had ever really encountered them, mere weeks before his eleventh birthday. He had set off alone on his horse, straying closer to the town from his path than he had intended. He had stopped to rest under the shade of a young oak where he had been discovered by a group of youngsters, all five of them a few years older than him. They had been laughing with each other and carrying around a large silvery box that had made the strangest noise, like an orchestra had been stripped of its most vital aspects and turned into a quartet where only one of each groups of instruments had been allowed to play. The noise they then had produced had been overlapped by singing like Draco had never heard before. Instead of performing a sophisticated harmony, the person had been screeching and howling in the most displeasing way imaginable. One of the boys had carried the box right by his ear and Draco couldn't till that day understand how he hadn't lost his mind in doing so.

They had all stopped walking at the sight of him, gathering around uncomfortably close to ask him questions about his person. Draco had told them he wasn't allowed to speak to Muggles, but they hadn't understood the meaning of the word. They made fun of his robes, which Draco had even then thought to have been pretty rich coming from people clad from head to toe in worn-out denim. Something about his appearance had made them fathom that he lived in the Manor, and they had insisted he take them there so they could have a swim in their pool. To Draco it had sounded beyond peculiar, since he had never even considered swimming in the garden pond, but the Muggles had refused to take no for an answer. One of them had even pulled out a knife to threaten him. If it hadn't been for his blooming magical talent that had conjured a violent wind to shake the trees around them Draco probably hadn't survived unharmed.

As he waited there now to cast the curse, the fear and anger he had felt in that moment rose to the surface. Yaxley was right; the whole concept of Muggles was unnatural. Their lack of magical ability could not be seen as anything else than a lack of mental capacity. They were a different species, one that should've been coerced to serve their superiors from the start. But instead it was the Muggles who had the upper hand, forcing the wizarding community to exist in secret, like thieves and beggars, invisible to the majority of the planet's population. His anger flared up into fury, a rage he wanted to take out on the first of those who had done him wrong.

He opened his eyes to meet Tobias Pennock's. Whatever sympathising effect those wet, beseeching pools of despondency had had on him earlier was gone. The stare was now solely irritating, like another indication of their inadequacy. When Draco thought about those pure-blooded witches and wizards who chose to turn from the centuries of traditions to lower themselves to the level of those spineless creatures, he wanted nothing more than to punish this ambassador of weakness, to see him suffer for what his species had done to him.

Slowly he raised his wand again, pointing it right between the Muggles eyes.

"_Crucio,_" he pronounced again, the word a mere whisper this time.

The curse flew, landing right where Draco had intended, and the second it touched his skin the man's head flew back and his mouth flew open in a scream inaudible to Draco's ears. He could only hear the blood rushing through his body and recognise the way every cell in his being seemed to activate, awoken by the case of Dark Magic he had performed. His nerves grew so sensitive the feeling soon became unbearable and he had no choice but to break the connection. The whooshing sound that had filled his world disappeared and he leaned on his knees, panting heavily.

"What was that?" he gasped, and Yaxley chortled.

"Hit you pretty hard, did it?" he asked, amused. "You should learn to control it."

Draco looked at the man sobbing on the floor and breathed heavily, the weight of his robes nearly intolerable on his aching skin. He tried comparing the feeling of casting the curse to being the receiving end of it, but it didn't make the experience feel any less unpleasant.

"Again," said Yaxley. "And put some thought into it this time."

Draco heaved another breath before straightening his posture and following the man's order. The thoroughgoing throbbing didn't ease, however, making it impossible for Draco to hold the curse for longer than a minute. Yaxley's eyes followed his every move, a fact that made him both self-conscious and frustrated. The pain got more intense after every whish of his wand until his head started to feel like it could blow up, and instead of getting stronger his efforts seemed to produce a weaker curse every time. Finally his irritation condensed to the point where he turned to the battered cabinet and gave it a firm kick that turned over one of the candles that went out with a hiss.

"You know what I think?" Yaxley yawned. "I figure you're being too _nice._" He took a pause, leaning back on his chair and picking his teeth. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were feeling sorry for that thing."

"I'm not!" Draco snapped. "You forget who you're talking to."

The older wizard snorted noisily. "Your heritage proves nothing," he barked. "Except that you're just as useless as your dear father."

"My father is _not_ useless!" he shouted. "And neither am I."

"Prove it!" Yaxley yelled, his face contorting with aversion. "Do you want to cause that Muggle pain?"

"Yes!" Draco replied angrily, running his sore fingers through his platinum blonde hair.

"Do it then! Stop wasting my time!" the man roared. "Quit acting like some incompetent squib who doesn't want to get his hands dirty! 'Cause believe me, your lack of effort has already gotten you into a load of trouble."

Draco sighed again heavily and pulled his hair. The thought of failing his task should've given him motivation inspired by fear, but instead it made him even more uneasy. He looked again at the Muggle who was hugging his knees closely to his chest, muttering to himself and crying uncontrollably. No matter how pitiful, undeserving and irritating Draco found the man, he couldn't find the pleasure in seeing him suffer. His dislike of people usually came out in a very different way, and giving someone like the Muggle so much of his undivided attention seemed to go against his nature. He had always agreed that when it came to punishments, varying forms of humiliation usually out-lasted physical pain, and therefore he didn't find much point in the Cruciatus Curse.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Yaxley breathed out. "Do I have to come and hold your hand, you big baby?"

"Shut up!" Draco snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"'_I'm trying to concentrate_'", Yaxley imitated. "Just the fact you have to take effort tells me everything I need to know." Another splatter of spit ended up on the floor. "I've never met anyone as boneless as you. I didn't think it'd be possible but you're a disgrace even to the snivelling sack of muck that is your family."

Draco felt rage boiling up in him. "Don't talk about my family like that," he whispered, his trembling hand lifting his wand to point at Yaxley's chest.

The wizard looked at the tip of it and laughed. "Ooh, I'm so scared," he ridiculed. "What are you gonna do, eh? Levitate me? Use the Leg-Locker Curse? Or maybe some other bit of magic for eleven-year-olds? It's obvious you haven't moved ahead from that."

Draco took a step forward, pressing his wand against Yaxley's throat. His cheeks were burning with the blush his anger had raised on them, and his veins were popping with the force of his speedy circulation. The other's quiet laughter made him shudder with aggression.

"But then again that's all you need to know, isn't it?" Yaxley whispered hoarsely. "Little prince Malfoy, all you have to do is be born and then you can just sit around like the mindless, spoiled brat that you are. Let dear daddy and mummy do all the work, and a fat lot of use they are, still being on the level of infants themselves."

"Shut it," Draco hissed, the words barely audible.

"No need to grow up and start thinking for yourself, is there?" the wizard kept retorting. "I'd bet anything that you never actually figured anything out the last couple of times, it was all just a lucky coincidence after another-"

"_Crucio_!"

The second the curse slashed Yaxley's neck, Draco knew it was different. The unpleasant sensitivity and awareness was still there, but this time it seemed outward bound, like his whole body had been radiating pain toward his enemy. Yaxley screamed, falling off the chair and on his knees as Draco watched, his eyes tearing up with the cold dry air and his inability to look away. He drew more strength from within his mind, intensifying the curse until the man was silently twitching on the floor. Every muscle in his body was rigid, and violent jolts charged down his nerve tissue, making his skin prickle until it was numb. His eyes remained unblinking as he let out a laugh that sounded strained and unhinged beyond the abrupt noise.

"That's it!" The Muggle imitated his insane laughter at a louder volume. "Keep at it, boy! Give that bastard a piece of your mind!"

Draco turned to look at the man, breaking the curse along with his concentration. Before either of them could say a word, he had cast it again, this time on Tobias Pennock. The force of it caressed his neck, reminding him of the Imperius Curse multiplied by a hundred. The satisfaction he got from the Torture Curse was incomparable, so extreme in its uniqueness it could hardly be described as pleasure. Draco knew he needed to bring it to an end before long – he could feel the stinging numbness climbing up his neck toward his face – but he didn't want the man's ear-splitting screeching to stop. He was forced to finish nonetheless by a spell that hit him on the ribs, sending him flying across the room to collide with the wall to his left. His wand fell out of his hand and he slid down the surface beside it.

"Rubbish, you are," Yaxley spat at him. "Finish off that cretin and let's get out of here."

Draco stumbled back on his feet, holding his hurt shoulder. The Muggle had begun sobbing again, begging him to spare his life. The words came out as panic-struck mumbling, scattered among the pathetic whimpers. Draco's lip curled with inaudible resentment as he prepared for the final curse. Looking at the man and listening to his deranged babbling it seemed almost like the most merciful thing to do.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" he shouted. A bright green light discharged from his wand and landed on the figure, which relaxed instantly, falling down on its face on the cold stone floor. Draco looked at it, almost expecting the man's back to move with respiration, but the body remained still and soundless.

"Come on," Yaxley sighed, sounding tired. "Let's go."

Draco tore his eyes off the corpse that used to be a man named Tobias Pennock, trying hard to grasp the concept that the concluding change in his life had been initiated by him. He followed Yaxley out of the shack, his head spinning with the slowly dawning realisation of his actions. A sickening feeling made his stomach lurch, and he vomited, leaning to the grimy wall between the door and the broken window.

"I should get a reward for this one," he heard Yaxley mutter as he wiped his mouth, straightening his posture weakly. The world was still whirling in front of him as he walked toward the wizard, trying to get away from the gaping doorframe as quickly as possible.

"There," said Yaxley, pushing a rusty old bucket in his hand. "It'll take you to the school grounds. I trust you don't need anyone to escort you from there."

Draco's teeth clattered quietly as the frosty air penetrated his clothes, and he tried pulling the robes tighter around himself. Yaxley waved his wand in front of him and Draco jumped, but as he looked down he realised it was only a Disillusionment Charm, like the kind he had been practicing with Snape a few days ago. The wizard kept checking his wrist watch every few minutes, clearly in a hurry to get rid of the lad. When the time finally drew near he snorted.

"I'll be reporting this back to the Dark Lord," he declared, "and trust me, I won't leave any of it out."

Draco glared at him one more time before the yank behind his navel carried him back to the castle in a flash. He sneaked across the dark yard, yawning with the fatigue that had returned as the levels of adrenaline in his body started to plummet. By the time he reached his dormitory he was more asleep than awake, diving into his four-poster bed without even bothering to change. He slipped off his robes and shoes and slid under the covers, the light snoring of his housemates soon going unnoticed by his slumbering shape.


	4. Chapter Three Facta, Non Verba

**Facta, Non Verba**

Draco took a seat on the damp grass, letting the cold air beat against his body as he wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself. The wind that howled around him and turned his hair into a cloud of blond and silver seemed indignant with his enduring presence, and circled him with a flood of whistling anger. Draco looked back at the lake he had walked around all morning; the relentless currents of air set in motion a mass of ripples and waves that reminded him of something that was too distressing to focus on. Here and there he could see the evidence of the snow that had fallen earlier and then melted away, leaving behind muddy suggestions of the approaching winter. His cold hands clasped the morning's newspaper tautly as he turned his eyes on it, his jaw clenching at the sight of the headlines. He looked away, his gaze sweeping the sides of the mountains that rose around the school, emitting a sense of calm security. However reassuring, it wasn't enough to soothe his thoughts, or the lack of them. The wind slashed his face, a few dead leaves stuck to his hair and he shivered.

He had woken up much too early again, a fact that had managed to make him tense every time after the illusion Yaxley had drawn him in several weeks ago. Restless dreams had haunted him throughout the night, nightmares from which he had woken up to the hollow echo of his own laughter as it had sounded in the shack in the woods. He had escaped the dormitory as soon as he had realised the warm shower would not ease any of the strain that had accumulated on his shoulders over the past two days, and fled to the windswept yard. He hadn't been able to enjoy or stand the presence of people; the staring and whispering, though lessened now, had turned from flattering to a fraught objectification. The few lessons he had attended before the weekend had been a dull, distorted blur of words that didn't catch his ear or eye, and the foggy emptiness his brain was sustaining had guided him to the safety of the dormitories immediately following dinner on both days. There he had fallen on his bed and drifted to sleep, only to be awaken hourly by either his dreams or his house mates.

The wind rustled the paper in his hand and he glanced down at it again. The front-page was the first thing that had been able to draw his attention in the past sixty hours, but the thought was by no means comforting. He pressed the back of his hand on his forehead, grimacing with the start of another headache caused by the rigidness of his shoulders before folding the paper under his arm and leaving his place near the lake's oscillating shoreline. When viewed from a distance the spot he had been sitting on looked like a dark scar on the dead grass, even more brown and dull than the rest of the sward that framed the grey stone walls of the castle. Draco turned his eyes from it, and walked up to the large oak doors, opening them to the usual hubbub of breakfast. Pursing his lips tightly, he turned away from the Great Hall and continued down the stairs to the common room, which he was grateful to find empty save for a group of third years busily scribbling word after word for what looked like a piece of Transfiguration homework.

Draco let out an exasperated sigh and threw himself on one of the sofas, unfolding the newspaper from the economy section, which he eyed with an unusual lack of interest. The market had been in turmoil for months, and as expected the few businesses that seemed to benefit from the circumstance had either to do with defensive or pharmaceutical lines of magic. During his summer holiday, he had invested a sum on a company that specialised in healing potions and protective charms, and had already earned double the amount he had released. His intentions then had been to augment his savings for the Grand Tour he had planned to take after his time in the school would run out. He had thought it to be the start for his financial independence, a gesture for coming of age and finding freedom from Hogwarts and his parents, a beginning of his own life in the fashion he saw fit. As of now the plan seemed foolish, a childish expectation of everything falling into place with him being able to come and go as he pleased. When he had thought about the ongoing hostilities beforehand, he had imagined there to be a decisive battle after which a state of status quo would take hold and there would be no need for forceful actions.

He lost himself in the scores of the Hippogriff races, another thing he had intended to look into once he was out of school, unaware of the students who had started to return from breakfast. Many of them gave him and his paper a curious glance before retreating to a location further from his presence. It wasn't until someone took a seat on his immediate left that Draco stopped evaluating his gambling opportunities and folded the daily under his arm again, turning his eyes on the fireplace across the room.

"Blaise," he greeted the other, who responded with an extensive yawn.

"Up early again?" Blaise inquired, stretching his legs out on the soft plush rug.

Draco let out a sound that was neither confirming nor refuting and Blaise sniggered lazily.

"It's hard work, isn't it?" he laughed. "Doesn't really leave time for much else."

Draco repeated his previous means of response stiffly as his jaw set to a severe degree of malocclusion. He looked around in the room with a frown, only now noticing how crowded it had become.

"Still," Blaise went on despite Draco's obvious unwillingness to engage in conversation, "I wouldn't mind being a bit busier myself. All this waiting around is getting on my nerves."

"You might get your wish soon enough," Draco muttered inaudibly, refusing to repeat his words at Blaise's request. His eyes squinted as he saw Colin Gray casting a glance in his direction before turning back to his essay. The lines by his nose grew deeper as he observed the other giving his mousy hair a strong tug while muttering something under his breath to his parchment.

"Did you hear about Urquhart?" Blaise asked now, but before Draco could admit he hadn't, the door to the common room flew open and Pansy stormed in, evidently put out by the sight of Draco.

"I've been looking all over for you," she huffed as she pulled an armchair closer to the sofa before taking a seat. "I thought we agreed to meet at breakfast."

"I must have forgotten," Draco fibbed evasively, keeping his eyes on the old textbook the girl had pulled out of her bag. "Is that the book?"

She nodded, handing the tome over. "I only have it for another week so try to be quick," she explained, her hand disappearing into her bag again. "I also brought you some breakfast, you hardly ate anything at dinner last night."

Draco glanced once at the sandwiches the girl was holding before refusing, stating that he wasn't hungry. Instead he concentrated on the book, a 17th century history manual he needed to look into for his homework.

"Come on, you have to eat," Pansy persisted. "How else are you going to be able to study with me in the library all day like you promised?"

Draco closed his eyes for a second and breathed deep. He couldn't even remember having made such a promise, and now that he was reminded, it seemed like the worst possible idea.

"I'm sure I'll manage," he said, forcing a strained smile on his lips as he browsed through the book, thoroughly uninterested with its contents.

"Will you just have one?" She waved the piece of bread in front of his face. "I brought your favourite."

"Just drop it, alright?" Draco told her, his smile spreading to an unnatural width. On most days he would've found Pansy's rarely surfacing mother hen qualities amusing, but on that particular day he saw nothing funny in her attempts to force-feed him anything.

"I missed breakfast," Blaise suddenly pointed out. "Why didn't you bring me any?"

Pansy's face grew sour as she handed over the sandwiches without a word to Blaise, her furious eyes still on Draco who did his best to ignore her irksome glare.

"I see Anatole brought you your mail then," she uttered, nodding to the paper, crossing her arms across her chest in a sign of her discontent.

"What about the mail?" Blaise asked, his mouth full of wheat and tuna after Draco made no sign of speaking. He handed over the _Daily Prophet_, gluing his gaze firmly to the chapter of the book titled _Fundamenti Rei Scholasticae_ when the other boy faced a near-death experience courtesy of his sandwich as he saw the headlines.

After most of the coughing and gagging had subsided, Blaise patted Draco on the back and laughed. "I guess congratulations are in order," he grinned. "Though to be honest you could've let slip that it was going on. You know there are no snitches here."

Draco felt his pulse quicken and his vision blur with anger but despite it he nodded and muttered, "Confidential. I'm sure you understand."

Blaise's nod was highly accentuated. "Right," he agreed and took another bite of the sandwich. "Do you know where they've gone then?" he now asked, putting Draco's nose even further out of joint.

"This might surprise you, Blaise," he retorted, raising his voice enough to draw the attention of the people closest to them, "but if I did I wouldn't be in a rush to tell you."

With this he got up and left the room with Pansy stubbornly following him, catching up with his fast pace at the top of the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall.

"Guess it's not good news then," she snapped, "since it puts you in such a foul mood."

"What do you want, Pansy?" Draco huffed, annoyed beyond expression with the girl's persistence. He crossed the floor swiftly, hopping up the stairs two at a time.

"I want you to help me with my homework," she snapped. "Why else would I be following you around?"

"Why indeed?" Draco muttered to himself as he reached the top of the stairs and turned to his friend. "You don't need my help, Pansy, we both know you're better than I am." He took a pause but continued as soon as he saw Pansy opening her mouth to reply. "I mean, what is this obsessive need you have to have me do things for you anyway?"

"I haven't asked you for anything in months!" Pansy exclaimed, clenching her hands into tight fists as was her habit.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away again, but Pansy wasn't willing to give up that easily. Her frail hand closed around his arm as she spun him around with impressive strength.

"Well if I am better than you then why won't you let me help you?" she protested in an edged tone. Draco clutched her arm and threw it off him so violently a look of pain entered the girl's face.

"Just drop it, Pansy," he growled before turning again and continuing on his way to the library.

"But I just-"

"Drop it!" he shouted back at the girl who had called after him.

He guided his steps quickly to the fourth floor, surprised with how full and noisy it was. Besides the few exceptions the student body went on about their daily lives like nothing had changed, like their lives were still heading toward such mundane destinations as a job in the Ministry or a quiet life in the idyllic milieu of Godric's Hollow. Draco felt thoroughgoing discomfort when he looked at them, so unwilling to get their heads out of the sand and think for themselves. Most of them would go their whole lives without ever knowing the meaning of grandeur, dying with nothing to show for the fact they had once been alive. Watching them walk by made him feel unwell, but more than that he worried about the way he couldn't help wondering what twist of fate had chosen him to be so different.

He directed his steps toward the library, craving for the comforting silence that left no room for idle gossip or wicked rumours that travelled by whispers when all ears were turned. He could feel many of their eyes following him when he walked by; Blaise was apparently the only one in the castle who had been able to sleep through the news.

He stepped inside, losing himself in the endless lines of books without bothering to pay attention to the names of the tomes. After the steady clicks of his shoes on the polished wooden floors had helped his thoughts to allay, he took a seat and opened the book Pansy had lent him, forcing himself to understand the words on the pages. It didn't come easy; his Latin was more than a little rusty and after a while he was forced to return to the shelves in search of a dictionary. Before he could conclude his quest his concentration was broken by three unpleasantly familiar voices, hushed words oozing to his ears from several shelves down as clearly as though their speakers had been standing a mere foot away.

"I just wish it hadn't happened so soon," said Granger, most likely the only one of the three actually paying attention to the books. "It feels more inescapable now."

"Well," Weasley started, "it _was_ only a matter of time, wasn't it? At least now we know who we're up against."

Draco pulled the largest English-Latin-English dictionary out of its place among the others and walked closer, making sure to step only on the tips of his shoes.

"You're right, Ron," Potter agreed with a mumble. "It's important to know who's out there."

"And in here as well," Weasley added. "With the way Malfoy's been behaving it's only a question of how long he's been one of their lot."

Draco could see a flash of Granger's bushy brown hair from the gap formed by the hardbacks and the thick oak of the old ledge as he snuck forward, his hands gripping the dusty leather binding.

"He must be pleased," Potter snorted, "getting closer and closer to his lifelong dream. I'd imagine."

"Have you seen how ill he's looked lately?" Granger asked the two without expecting an answer. "He's been doing terribly in class. It's like he's lost all interest."

"I'd lose all interest too if I thought I'd be killing Muggles for a living," Weasley noted quietly. "I mean, you don't really need many N.E. for that."

Draco's teeth dug to his lower dental arch as he turned away and walked back to his desk, slamming the book down so audibly he earned a distant hush from Madam Pince. The Gryffindors murmured among each other for a moment before leaving, and Draco turned his full attention on his homework, translating chapter after another, forgetting each of them before he could start the next. The anger and frustration he was feeling had filled every cell in his body, leaving no room for reasonable thinking. He worked for hours without a single thought occurring to him, until he reached a sentence that didn't make sense no matter how many times he turned to the lexicon to verify the words. After the seventh failed attempt, his fist closed rigidly around a frail page of the dictionary, which ripped noisily and scrunched up into a ball in his unyielding hand. Quickly Draco closed the book with a loud thump and shoved the piece of paper in the pocket of his trousers, justifiably nervous about the keeper of the library finding out about the maltreatment. He left the room soon after and joined the flow of people headed for the Great Hall, noticing again the throbbing headache that had beleaguered him throughout his stay in the midst of the school's vast collection of books.

The irregular sounds of the student body bounced off the large stone rafters of the Great Hall, creating a forest of noise through which Draco wished he didn't have to navigate. He glanced once at the Gryffindor table, not fooled by Weasley's head jerking swiftly back toward the location of his house mates. He rolled his eyes as he took a seat, the veins under the fine skin of his arms visible as large amounts of blood came pulsing through at an accelerating speed. His breathing turned shallow as he noticed Pansy, not on her usual seat opposite of him, but among a group of fifth years to his left. A shudder of resentment dashed through him and gave his hands a slight shake as he reached for a white porcelain serving dish for a bowl of leek and potato soup. When someone's elbow collided with his shoulder blade, the bowl slipped from the reach of his sweating hands and landed on the table with a loud shattering crash that for a moment seemed to silence the whole Hall. The dish had broken into several pieces and smashed a slice off a plate it had landed on. The creamy soup had formed a puddle on the table through which the drops of the same liquid sent ripples as they fell off the sleeve of Draco's robes and ran along his hand, the shade a light pink due to the heat of the broth.

"My apologies," muttered Colin Gray nonchalantly, taking a pew on Draco's right. He folded open the morning's _Daily Prophet_ in one grand gesture and cleared his throat audibly as Draco gritted his teeth and cleaned up the soup and the shards of china with a silent wave of his wand.

"No matter," Draco uttered from behind the strained smile he had drawn on his face again. "We can't go expecting too much poise out of you, can we?"

"Speaking of poise," the other stretched complacently, "I think we all got a reasonably clear reminder of how much of it _your_ family has demonstrated of late." He was peering down at the front page. "Though I have to admit your father does wear those robes rather well." He turned the paper so Draco could take a look, but his eyes never strayed from the bowl he had filled again. "Almost like bespoke tailoring, wouldn't you say?"

"How would you know?" Draco snorted, feeling a blush of anger rising on his cheeks as he stirred his soup over and over, keeping his eyes on the formless swirls of steam that rose upward with every turn made by his piece of cutlery. "It's been so long since your family has been able to afford getting anything tailored even you great-great-great-great-grandfather didn't know the meaning of the word." Focusing on keeping his hand stable absorbed so much verve he nearly missed Gray's following words.

"Money isn't everything, Malfoy," he hissed. "There's things that can't be bought, not even with your money. Us Grays have something you Malfoys-"

"Will never have?" Draco let out the first genuine laugh of the day. "You're right about that, Gray, but I wouldn't exactly boast about it if I were you. If you catch my drift."

Gray's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a tone that was probably supposed to approach dangerous.

Draco laughed again. "That you Grays certainly have attributes that none of the rest of us do." His smile widened into a malicious smirk as he continued. "But the rest of us aren't exactly dying to get infected by them."

The other lad's eyes had widened again and Draco could see the multitude of little red veins that gave his stare the hysterical air that wasn't uncommon with his family. When he spoke his voice resembled a growl of a beaten dog. "I don't know-"

"What I'm talking about?" Draco finished the other's sentence again and laughed, too loudly and too long. "Well everyone else does!" he exclaimed. "It's no secret, Gray. We've all had a good laugh about it more than once."

"Don't-" Colin started but Draco cut him off again.

"Oh, yes, there are several good jokes about your family, but my absolute favourite would have to be the one I heard from Pansy's father, d'you want to hear it?" Draco paused and looked expectantly at Gray, who was shivering with anger.

"I-" he started, but Draco continued before he could get a second word in.

"Well, the joke goes, 'What does a Gray and a well-trained dog have in common?'" He paused before the punch line, which he uttered dramatically in a low voice. "Both only bark when necessary."

Colin Gray's eyes seemed able to pop out of his scull as the look of pure rage took over his features. His voice was even more unstable than it had been a few years earlier as he breathed yet another word that would have no successors.

"Oh, there are many of you personally. Don't worry, you won't be left in the shadow of your predecessors in _that_ aspect. What are all those little potions for, eh? To keep away the crazies?"

"You-"

"Me? No I don't need them, see, I'm not completely insane."

"You're failing your training!" Gray hissed poisonously with a triumphant expression.

Draco's heart stopped beating for what felt like a whole minute before it started a race so insane he felt like his head might explode. His blank gaze was fixed on Gray's small and inexplicably unpleasant teeth.

"What?" he breathed incredulously. Colin Gray's smile grew wider as he glanced around hastily. Few people in the hall were paying any attention, and those who did realised quickly it was for their own best interest to look the other way.

"See?" The word was a mere ecstatic gasp. "My father knows things, things you will never know. Yaxley will see to that. And he tells me things. In the end _he_ will realise who's more fitting to his purposes, and that's me, Malfoy, not you! You can't even finish off one pathetic Muggle! Probably because your whore of a mother slept with one around nine months before you were born."

Draco's teeth gritted to the edge of breaking point as the fury that took over him drained his mind of all rational thinking. His breath clutched painfully in his chest and his body started to shiver as the tip of his wand, unstable in his infuriated grip, was pointing at Colin Gray's throat. As soon as he noticed it, the smug grin cleared from his face.

"Ooh, hit a nerve did I?" He let out a manic cackle. "No one said your dear mum's standards were high. I mean, just look who she ended up marrying."

A curse parted from the tip of Draco's wand and landed on the other boy's jaw, throwing him back on his seat. Indistinctly aware of everyone's eyes on him, Draco got on his feet, still pointing his wand at Gray, whose chin had already started to swell up.

"Come on then!" he exclaimed, lighting a fire of resistance behind Colin's eyes. "Get up and fight, you little shit! I'll give you exactly one chance before I finish _you_ off, you brainsick bastard!"

The other had barely uttered the spells when Draco's wand cut the air, sending Shield Charms between him and his opponent. The curses bounced off the protections, passing over the heads of increasingly alarmed students, many of whom were already hurrying out of the way. Without stopping to think, Draco sent another two curses flying through the air but only one of them met its target; the other missed narrowly and destroyed a salad bowl further down the table. As Draco watched Colin Gray clutching his aching chest he felt a forceful pull on his left hand, and his wand slipped through his fingers, leaving him feeling not only unarmed, but suddenly exposed to everyone's prying eyes.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me like that, you hear?" he shouted at Colin Gray as a strong hand grabbed a hold of his robes and started pulling him away, toward the entrance hall. "I'm warning you, Gray, don't you _ever_ speak to me like that again!"

It wasn't until they reached the stairs leading to the dungeons that Draco saw who had interrupted his expressions of disagreement with Gray and as the realisation came over him, the anger made him yank his arm from the man's resilient grasp almost instinctively. As soon as he had freed himself, Draco felt a hand landing on his back, pushing him past the professor's study and toward the dungeon they had been using for spell practice for the past several weeks. He stumbled in once they reached the shallow room and the door closed behind him with a loud, resolute bang. The cool air of the corridors carried its echo throughout the ground floor of the castle.

Draco staggered onto his feet, turning towards his Head of House with a defiant expression fixed on his face. The older wizard didn't look at him, however, merely walked toward him with downcast eyes. Draco could see his own hawthorn wand in Snape's hand and felt defenceless again. The position the man put him in made him angrier still; he felt like he was being treated like a child, scolded for some abstract wrong he had allegedly committed.

"I don't regret it," he declared before Snape could get the chance to speak. "He was begging for it, talking to me like that. He should know the consequences."

The man glanced at him impatiently but remained silent. Something about his reluctance to speak made Draco increasingly alarmed.

"Who does he think he's dealing with anyway?" he asked, turning his eyes to the floor. "I'm his superior now. _Especially_ now." His gaze swept the damp walls of the dungeon as his voice lowered to a mumble. "Someone needs to teach them some respect."

"And I suppose you're the one to do it," Snape remarked irritably, casting a Silencing Charm on the room. "Stupid boy!" he snapped. "What do you think you're here for, to carry out some personal vendetta?"

Draco's teeth gritted and he turned away, slamming his fist against the desk.

"I've continued to overlook your self-aggrandizing attitude, Mr. Malfoy, and even closed my eyes to your constant warmongering among you fellow students but your desperate desire to highlight yourself has pushed you to cross the line of my patience," Snape lectured in a stern voice. "Your fascination with personal gain is exactly what keeps you from excelling, not to mention your familiarity with getting things done for you."

For the next few moments the only sound Draco could hear was his own shallow breathing and the grinding of his teeth as he kept decidedly silent. Snape's words repeated themselves in his head until his mind had come up with a way to explain all of them into oblivion.

"The events taking place here are no more about Mr. Gray's family as they are about yours," the professor pointed out, raising Draco's defences at once.

"I'm not a child, Snape, so stop treating me like one," he snapped, earning only a scornful sneer from his teacher.

"First you need to stop acting like one."

"I'm not acting like a child!" Draco spat angrily. "Gray _deserved_ it! It was his fault!"

"This is exactly what I mean!" the man countered. "You're afraid of responsibility when you should be accepting it!"

Draco's hands flew to his hair which he smoothed down anxiously before placing them on the rough surface of the solitary desk again, letting out a heavy sigh.

"There's nothing that makes you superior besides the ability of others to trust you with responsibilities that would be overwhelming for most."

"And what if they don't?" Draco shot back. "What if they don't trust me with said responsibilities in the first place? How exactly am I supposed to prove myself then?"

The Potions master's expression changed briefly to a shadow of a frown before going decidedly blank; it looked to Draco almost like the effects of a very powerful Memory Charm. An abrupt silence fell on the room, loudening the sound of Draco's own breathing into a gusty hiss.

"The Dark Lord appreciates the virtue of patience," Snape suddenly uttered, lowering his voice. "He has enough servants who act on impulse. Those who know when to provoke attention are held in high value."

Draco snorted loudly. "Patience," he repeated. "That's the only thing anyone ever says to me. 'Have patience, Draco. Good things come to those who wait.'" He turned to face the man seditiously. "Well I am sick of waiting! I'm ready!" he snapped, starting to pace back and forth. "The only thing unsettling me is this damned uncertainty." His hands flew to his hair again before settling, the other on his waist and the other to his mouth where a nail found its way between his grinding teeth. "I wasn't even informed about the break out!"

"There was no need for you," Snape countered swiftly. "Sending a word for you would've served no purpose."

"He's my father!" Draco argued, trying to ignore the drop of sweat falling down his temple. "I had the right to know even if it had nothing to do with my training."

"Which is exactly what you should be concentrating on right now," the wizard reminded him. "You're not the only one who grows impatient, Mr. Malfoy."

What colour was left on Draco's face faded instantly. For what felt like eternity in a heartbeat he walked back and forth with no other thought occurring to him. "Don't think I don't know what happens if I fail," he finally noted, casting a glance at his teacher from the corner of his eye.

"That is a risk we all take," Snape replied monotonously. "This is war, Mr. Malfoy. Casualties are to be expected."

Draco snorted again. "That's not going to be me," he swore quietly, not sure whom he was trying to assure. "Gray's wrong. It won't be me."

Snape remained respectfully silent before returning to the events that had set off the discourse. "As for now," he stated matter-of-factly, "I suggest we make good use of the detentions your behaviour has earned you."

Draco rolled his eyes. A punishment like detention felt beyond trivial; during the past few days he had almost managed to forget he was still at school. "Fine," he murmured compliantly.

"Your Shield Charms are getting better," the professor complimented him insipidly, "but we need to focus on your attack. It seems to me your defences are in place for now."

The lad nodded indifferently and took his leave without further remarks. He directed his steps to the Slytherin common room, hoping to be able to sneak into the dormitories without provoking attention, as Snape had put it. No sooner had he stepped in than he was approached by the two people he wished he didn't have to deal with until the day had changed.

"Malfoy!" Colin Gray shouted from across the room, not failing to draw everyone's attention. Draco's brow knitted as he saw Pansy had also stood up, but fell back to her seat as Gray made his way to the entrance before Draco could take another step. "What the hell was that? You damned near broke my jaw! Don't think you're going to get away with this!"

"Oh, but I am," Draco breathed loudly. "It's about time you learned your place, Gray-"

"Learned _my_ place?" the other lad exclaimed incredulously. "What about _your_ place, Malfoy? Who voted to put you in charge of anything anyway?"

Draco let out a derisive laugh. "And what exactly am I in charge of, Gray?" he asked mockingly. He could see people around him looking at each other hesitantly, as if only now realising how valid a question it was.

The look of anger on Colin's face left room for a hint of uncertainty. His eyes darted across the room, looking for support, but no one was willing to make eye contact with him.

"Well?" Draco asked again expectantly. "According to you I'm obviously the leader of something. Could you tell me what that is, please?"

Colin Gray's under-developed jaw seemed to disappear almost entirely as his teeth found the soft skin of his lower lip. His eyes seemed to have given up hope and were now directed to the floor. "Us," he finally mumbled somewhat incoherently.

Draco looked around the room, raising an eyebrow and a few timid laughs. "Us?" he repeated. "Who's us?"

Colin seemed to have several answers on the tip of his tongue, but in the end he settled for an evasive shrug.

"Us Slytherins?" Draco ventured a guess. "Or maybe us purebloods. Is that the group I'm leading to battle?"

Gray shrugged again, making the displeasing shape of his shoulders painfully obvious.

Draco looked around the room again. "Who here recognises me as his or her personal guideline in life?" he asked, raising his own hand but being left alone in doing so. He looked around for a little while longer before turning back to the other lad. "Looks like I'm on my own here," he said, raising another flock of laughter from the crowd.

"Well if you're not any type of leader then where do you get off telling the rest of us how to act?" a tall, athletic-looking boy asked from an armchair across the room. Draco recognised him as Urquhart, the new captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Draco weighed his words for a moment before uttering, "I don't make the rules I simply follow them." His voice was calm, but his pulse had quickened with this questioning of his authority. "And I do a better job at it than most, might I add." He walked over to a sofa where people yielded to make room for him. Colin Gray mumbled something to himself before drawing to a distant corner from where he cast vicious glares in Draco's direction, all the while massaging his aching jaw.

"And what does that make you then?" Urquhart asked now, but this time Draco didn't have to stop and think.

"It makes me an example, Urquhart," Draco declared logically. "To follow my example is optional, however."

The lad sneered. "But those who know what's good for them choose to, right?" he assumed, and Draco shrugged.

"I'm sure it remains to be seen," he said, not sounding like there was any doubt about the matter what so ever. "You see, Urquhart, in my world – and I'm sure many others would agree with me – there are certain boundaries and divisions. Many of these are understood to be in place without ever having to be discussed. I consider myself a reminder of that."

"So all these boundaries that you're here to remind us of," Urquhart continued with a frown, "they're not real?"

Draco snorted quietly. "Only if you believe you need to say things aloud before they exist," he expressed confidently. "I'm quite sure you've never had an actual discussion about the head master's study but that doesn't mean the school doesn't have such a room."

Urquhart's frown stayed in place for another moment before he shook his head apathetically. "I don't know, Malfoy," he said. "Sometimes it seems like you're talking completely out of your arse."

"Well maybe you shouldn't talk at all," Daphne Greengrass suddenly joined in from her seat by the fireplace. "I don't think anyone here is very surprised to hear that's your opinion when you take recent development into account."

"I told you, Daphne, what's going on between me and Tamsin is none of your business," Urquhart snapped, looking genuinely angry.

"Oh it has a name does it?" Daphne ridiculed, causing the lad to clench his hands into tight fists. Draco followed the dialogue intently, failing to understand the reason for Daphne's discontentedness until his mind made the connection between the name Tamsin and a certain member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team with a less than desired heritage. "She looks so much like a gnome I often forget her parents are supposedly human."

Urquhart jumped up from his seat, wand at the ready; Draco suspected it was against his principles to hex a girl, but he looked eager enough to do just that and probably had if his friends hadn't held him back. Daphne barely laughed, remaining in her queen-like pose in the armchair.

"I do believe seeing the pair of you would make me unwell if you weren't such a sad specimen of what this country's going to," she drawled, shaking her head erratically. "I feel for your parents. They deserve better than a son like you."

Urquhart's nails seemed to be digging so deep into the palms of his hands that seeing blood dripping on the rug would not have surprised Draco. Daphne's eyes turned even colder, still keeping that spiteful twinkle that the Hufflepuff's name had lit in them.

"Come on, Daph." Blaise stood up and walked over to the girl, laying a protective hand on her shoulder. "He's not worth your attention."

Glancing around the room Draco could see Pansy's frowning face directed to Blaise and Daphne, and he wondered if his friends' encounters had crossed the lines of common courtesies. The dissolved nature of the situation gave Draco a chance for a swift escape; he didn't want to hear a word from Pansy or Colin Gray, whose flashing eyes followed him through the common room.

Meeting the calm of the dormitories with an air of relief, Draco's mind seemed to wipe the events of the day from his memory as soon as he had taken a seat on the soft four-poster bed. He leaned his head tiredly against a fold of dark green velvet covering one of the wooden poles that ensured the refuge found behind the hangings. Suddenly it seemed not a moment had passed since he had woken up, exhausted and confused after the night spent with Yaxley and the seemingly arbitrary selection of company. Draco's brow furrowed in unease and he fell back on the bed, sitting back up instantly as he heard a soft rustling noise follow his collapse. He thrust his hand in his pocket; his fingers closed around the smooth and vulnerable substance of an extremely thin piece of paper. He pulled it out swiftly and straightened it, finding a list of words in Latin, all beginning with the letter m, side by side with their English counterparts.

"Morator, moratus, morbidus," Draco followed the list absently. He felt the first one was the most likely to apply to him. He folded the page neatly and placed it between his copy of _Harry Was A Harlowe Beast_ before standing up and starting the practice of his Shield Charms again.

Draco felt he had barely laid himself to rest when his head flew off his pillow again and he let his bare foot fall on the cold stone floor. Not sure what had woken him up – for he couldn't remember if he had dreamed or not – he pressed the sweaty palms of his hands on his eyes and threw off his covers, feeling their comforting warmth had turned into stifling stillness of the air. Longing to escape the all-consuming silence of the dormitories that made his housemates sound like lightly sleeping predatory animals Draco pulled on a clean robe and tiptoed his way out of the room. The quiet _pop_ his ears detected at the closing of the dormitory door told him a house-elf had just Disapparated, and for the first time in his life he was grateful for the work they did as the crackling of the fireplace made sure the muteness of the dormitories didn't reoccur.

He reclaimed the seat he had held some hours earlier, letting his fingers crawl nervously through the strands of his platinum hair. Crossing his legs and leaning his head back he stared up at the dark ceiling where the boisterous flames created little pools of light. He sighed as he realised his mind was starting to resemble it; what had once been an open clearing of certainty was now darkened with doubt. Only here and there, it seemed, unequivocal facts remained. It was during those sleepless nights that Draco questioned his very foundation in a way that made him wonder if he had lost sight of who he was as well as who he was meant to be. The thought of his father's return to civilization flashed through his mind; the notion was confusing in that it was merely remotely pleasing.

He closed his eyes, wondering how long he could last in his constant sleep deprived state. He couldn't even remember when he had slept through the night uninterrupted. The little drops of light played on his eyelids, reminding him of the glass of hors d'age brandy that he so desperately craved. He sighed again, desolated by the knowledge that no nerve-settling smoke would escape his lungs along with it. He pictured a calm day in early August, when the scents of freshly cut grass and tobacco had melted into each other in the drawing room, clinging to the upholstery of the furniture. His fingers had pattered over the keys of the piano, tempting out one of those newfangled simplistic melodies he found too dull and ascetic. Pansy had lounged on the teal blue divan, her pale complexion perfected by the shimmering fabric on which she was reposed. She had leafed through a book of archaic poetry, stopping every now and then to cast the ashes of her cigarette in the ivory ashtray. Suddenly he had gotten up, kissed his friend on the cheek and exited the room. Draco could see it all so clearly now; the image was so vivid he could smell the aged pages of Pansy's book and feel the cool silver cigar case in his left pocket.

He left the room, turning once more at the door to make a joke which – he now remembered – Pansy didn't find amusing. He closed the door behind him, but the hallway he expected to see was no longer there. The oil paint portraits had disappeared; the discolouring of the walls behind them was alarmingly unconcealed. Draco continued toward the stairs, his feet even more half-hearted than his mind. For a moment he mistook the clanging sounds from downstairs as the staff preparing for dinner, but the consistency of the resonance countered this argument. He plodded shakily down the stairs, sometimes skipping a step, sometimes stepping on the same one twice, and somehow he knew if he turned back the stairs would go on forever. At the foot of the stairs was a corridor of stone with an unpaved floor which had been hastily covered with old straws. Draco could hear them crumbling under his feet as he walked on, increasingly aware of where he was going. The corridor opened up to a room which was neither a kitchen nor a sitting room, littered with dead leaves and grime. And on his left the banging continued to get louder and louder, followed by a savage yell that made Draco's head jerk forward and up from the sofa in the common room, which had turned dark and obscured as the fire had died out.

He didn't know how long he had dozed off for, but judging by the coals still blazing in the fireplace it couldn't have been too long. He looked around feverishly, but nothing had changed since his eyes were last open. As always after a nightmare he felt upset with his inability to sleep like he used to: sound and undisturbed. Draco wondered where the logs burning in the fireplaces around the school came from; the room felt too tenebrous for his dispirited thoughts.

Like an answer to his wish the darkness shifted, but the source of the unexpected luminescence was not the fire. Instead of the warm dim light of fervent flames it was a bright, silvery glow that flooded the room. Draco's hand flew to his wand as he turned to see the source behind him; all his eyes encountered was a distorted shape of magnificent brilliance that forced him to shield his sensitive eyes. As he watched the shape seemed to shift and change, as if acquiring a new form every time Draco came close to figuring it out. Something in his stunned mind recognised the thing as a Patronus, but only remotely so. Bitterly he remembered his own feeble attempts at casting one, but the resentment didn't extend to the luminous creature he was beholding; the longer he kept looking the more inviting it became.

Without fully understanding why, Draco got on his feet and took a few apprehensive steps toward the door. As he got closer the creature vanished, leaving the room pitch black except for the faintest silvery glow still penetrating the small cracks between the door and its frame. Draco opened it silently; the thought of breaking the school rules never entered his mind. Again he was taken aback by the haloed beauty of what had now become his leader through the somnolent, abandoned hallways. He was still trying to fathom its form as he walked on; at times it seemed to flutter like a bird, other times it looked like a prowling beast.

He crossed the Entrance Hall floor swiftly without a glance to the thickening shadows on his left and right; their engulfing of the surrounding air was absolute. As he got to the large oak doors he gritted his teeth, pushing them outward in the total darkness that followed the Patronus slipping effortlessly through the solid hardwood. He expected an alarm of some sort to go off as his hand touched the surface of the wood, but the silence around him remained unwavering until the hinges cried out in protest of their midnight disturbance. Draco slid through the crack he had managed, closing the door behind him and cringing at the echoes the action left circling the castle's lower floors.

As he followed the Patronus across the damp grass the wind caught his robe again and he wished he had had the sense to grab a cloak before exiting the common room. He pulled a hood on his head as far down as it would go, wondering quietly where the thrill and expectation he had felt before had wandered off to. When he came to the edge of the Forest he was forced to revisit the thought; the wind rustled in the trees that seemed to be talking to one another, discussing Draco's undesired presence. As the Patronus glided through the woods Draco thought he could see eyes flashing in the darkness and hear fast-paced steps disturbing the dead leaves on the forest floor. He tried to swallow down the lump of fear from his throat as he walked faster; even more than he wished to get out of there, he hoped the Patronus would not depart. After a hundred yards of veering to keep away from the trees he had lost his sense of direction.

For Draco's great relief the Patronus stopped even sooner than he had dared to hope. Beneath it he could catch a glimpse of a dull shimmer, but before he could evaluate it further his relief turned into sheer panic; the Patronus was hastily growing dim. Pushing aside twigs and low-hanging branches Draco leapt forward, falling on his knees on the mucky grass. In the rapidly disappearing light his hands fumbled and groped the earth around him, until they caught hold of a metallic brim. Just as the last remaining flicker of light disappeared, so did he.

He hit the ground with a loud thud that left his lungs empty of air. He gasped for breath and groaned as he sat up slowly, massaging his aching back reluctantly. His hand found a hold on the grimy sand underneath him and he got up, dusting his clothes before looking up at the large wrought-iron gates of the Malfoy Manor. The elm trees bordering the old road swayed gently in the wind in great contrast to the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Draco sighed wearily.

"Took your sweet time as usual didn't you?" Yaxley's brutish voice greeted from the shadows. "Stopped to retch from fear again I suppose."

Draco bit his tongue to hold back a response, turning on his heels and marching on through the gates that turned to black smoke as he approached.

"You probably think you're here for the Mark," Yaxley continued his monologue, landing far from Draco's own expectations. "Well guess again! If it were up to me you'd never receive as much as a scratch from the Dark Lord, and after what I've told him I wouldn't be too surprised if that was the case."

"You can lie about my doings all you want, Yaxley," Draco snapped, "but I have infinitely more right to be here than you do. But then again I suppose you already knew that."

"You have shit!" Yaxley growled, catching up with the fast pace Draco was keeping. "You haven't done the first thing for him, you little twat!"

"Oh, but I will," Draco boasted confidently despite the growing uncertainty that had bothered him since the last time he had made contact with Yaxley.

"We'll see about that," the man barked, obviously not sharing Draco's confidence. "He wants to have a little chat with you, see, to find out whether you're even remotely cut out for this."

Draco's heart stopped in an instant; it seemed to melt into a puddle of lead that found its way to the pit of his stomach and down his legs, which turned numb and heavy, unwilling to take another step. His mouth felt dry, but the thought of having something to drink felt revolting. He was heedless to the fact he was still walking, not realising it until the Manor loomed above him; it looked as sinister as Azkaban, defying all the warm feelings Draco had for his home. He stopped to stare at the neatly cut stones rising above and in front of him; they had an air of silent peril.

"What's the matter?" Yaxley asked vindictively. "Don't you want to prove yourself now?"

Draco glared at the man and started climbing the stairs to the large double doors; his steps seemed steady to him, but anyone else watching could've easily perceived the tremble that seemed to originate deep in his bones. The strangling feeling of disgust in his throat got instantly worse as he wrapped his hand around the cool metal of the handle; the spell that had been forged into it centuries earlier recognised him without delay, and yielded to let him in the grand hall. The marble was just as polished as ever, and the scents of wealth that greeted him hadn't faded, but his senses held to none of that. He either heard or imagined a soft mumbling sound that told him the house was full of strangers, and for some reason it made Draco feel almost violated; like someone had touched him without his permission.

"Up the stairs then," the man snickered from the door. "He'll be waiting for you in your father's study."

A shudder flashed through Draco as soon as he had placed his foot on the first step of the wide stairs that led to the upper floors of the Manor. In an instant he remembered the last time he had been to the room of Yaxley's mentioning; he had spent several hours of the last day of his holiday leaning seemingly carelessly on the backrest of the large leather chair, looking up through the glass of the domed ceiling at the gathering clouds until the weight of the accumulating humidity became too great for them to bear. It had felt like the skies had been weeping for the ending of a milder season, or perhaps for the bitterness of those which lay ahead.

When Draco reached the room it seemed the emotions he had imagined for the rain had been right; the mild, grey light of that August day was gone; the sky the ceiling revealed was a deep black. Not a single star could pierce the clouds, and blacker than the night was the cloak of the Dark Lord as he sat on his father's chair in the dim light of a solitary candle; the new master of the house.

The fear Draco had tried to keep at bay during his long climb overwhelmed him. Panic drowned him; it turned into icy water that filled his lungs, barred his breathing and persuaded his blood to leave his limbs. He sank into an armchair upon request, his hands shaking violently, and tumultuous jolts coursed through his body. The Dark Lord's words went unheard by his ears, filled with the distant murmur of his own petrified mind. His hands clutched the armrests like trying to break the wood into tiny splinters, and with all his strength he forced himself to listen, turning his eyes to meet the burning red for a fraction of a second that seemed to steal years off his life.

"You know why I've asked you to come here tonight, Draco," the Dark Lord said softly and the light of the flickering flame made his face look dead and menacing.

Draco let out a sound he meant to be a respectful reply; in the end it was hardly more than a strange, high-pitched grunt that squeezed its way through his blocked throat.

"I've called you here so we could have a word in private."

The boy nodded shakily, pushing his hand through his hair as he did. His eyes were fixed on the fringe of the rug; the soft ruffles lay on the floor in abnormally neat lines, like someone had combed them. He could hear people walking in the corridor outside the door, and for a second the violated feeling re-emerged.

"It seems my expectations for your furtherance have been greater than your potential for meeting them," the Dark Lord continued in a calm, controlled tone, "and hopefully tonight will tell whether they have been entirely misplaced."

The absence of sound that followed turned Draco's attention to the panic that was taking over his body. His chest seemed to be pulsing with heat that spread through him and made him sweat excessively. He felt as though someone had held a hand in front of his mouth and nose, and his breath left him in shallow, fitful gasps. His mind was racing with one impossible aim: to disappear from the situation. So aggressively was this compulsion captivating his mind that he needed to force himself to listen again as the Dark Lord continued.

"Yaxley informed me of your... shortcomings during your latest assignment," the wizard told him, leaving his seat and turning to the window behind him. "You disappoint me, Draco."

These words left the weight of death pressing on Draco's mind. For a second the thought of absolute and interminable non-existence that would some day follow the ending of his own life flashed through his mind, a petrifying realisation of the abstraction of _nothing_, and as he understood how close to it he had gotten, his heart started beating madly, like trying to catch up before its untimely but inevitable cessation.

Draco cleared his throat nervously. "M-My Lord," he stammered. His voice sounded hoarse and weak. "It's no secret Yaxley has a grudge against my family, my Lord. I wouldn't be too surprised if-"

"Yaxley has not lied to me, Draco," the man interrupted him. "No one lies in my presence." His voice was so cold it seemed to Draco able to cause the momentary diminishing of the candle's bright flame.

"Of course not, my Lord," Draco agreed quietly, letting go of any other excuses he might have been able to conjure. The silence that took the place of his words seemed to carry on endlessly, and the darkness of the room seemed to come alive as the light grew stronger, making the shadows dance across the walls like the skeletons of medieval frescos.

"I sense you have doubts," the Dark Lord finally uttered. "Your father had them too. Such an uncharacteristic thing for a Malfoy to do – to share their loyalties. But even your father eventually understood the profit in joining me."

A dry, slithering sound swept the floor behind him; Draco didn't need to turn to know what approached him in the dark. Hearing the incessant hissing he imagined the forked tongue tasting the air in search of him, reading more deeply into him just through his scent than anyone had managed through the use of words. The snake crossed the room from the dark corner in which she had been lurking, brushing Draco's shoe as she passed. She rubbed her flat head against her master's leg almost affectionately.

"Nagini likes the way you smell," the Dark Lord told him almost absently. "It makes her hungry."

Draco, whose mind still struggled with keeping away the ideas of death, had a sudden image of himself halfway engulfed in Nagini's duct-like entrails. He shuddered at the thought and cast a thoroughly disgusted glance at the serpent, who had returned to circle at Draco feet. He felt sorry for his mother for having to put up with that thing in the house. After all, she even hated the dogs.

"Having doubts can be very dangerous for someone like you," the wizard noted, suddenly returning to the subject. "Your mind is strong, but easily subjected to new ideas. Your concentration is seldom unwavering."

Draco weighed these words, wondering if he recognised himself in them. He had always considered himself rather stubborn, not easily abandoning his preconceptions even after he'd been proven wrong. This was clearly not the time to argue, however, so he stayed silent, resisting the urge to step on Nagini's head as she moved her muscular body on the tips of his shoes. The darkness of the room seemed to close in on him as the flame of the candle danced in some invisible breeze that didn't even cool his forehead.

"You cursed Yaxley instead of the Muggle," the Dark Lord declared harshly. "Why?"

The words hit Draco like a whip. He flinched, and the shake returned to his hands. "The Muggle?" he asked, his voice quivering like a child's.

"Did you feel he didn't deserve it?" the wizard demanded. His voice was calm but he had raised his wand.

Draco's eyes shot to the wand and back as he cried, "No! Certainly he deserved it, my Lord-"

"Did your personal dispute with Yaxley make him more deserving of your attention?"

Draco remembered his discomfort with this exact matter, but he shook his head strongly nonetheless. "Surely no wizard could deserve such attention more than a Muggle, any Muggle, my Lord," he fibbed hastily, still eyeing the fringe of the hand-woven rug. "Though the Muggle, naturally, had done me no wrong, it's a matter of what they are, not what they do."

The boy could barely see the pale, spider-like hand fall back behind the surface of the desk that stood between them. "Your words are well rehearsed," the Dark Lord whispered, "but they lack conviction."

Every second of silence felt poisonous to Draco; his head started spinning, and he started to feel strangely detached from his body. His light-headedness increased by every beat of his heart, until he felt the quiet alone could kill him. The blood in his heart seemed to be ripping the muscle surrounding it, and he wondered if it could actually explode in his chest. He pressed his hand on his ribcage, trying in vain to take deeper breaths.

"How did it feel?" the Dark Lord hissed, and Nagini echoed the sound with her tongue.

Draco's eyes shot up for a fleeting moment. "F-feel?" he replied stupidly, this time unable to look away. There was no question even in his numb mind of what the Dark Lord had meant.

"Killing."

The tone set for this lonely word was so unambiguous even the snake seemed to understand what had been said. She broke into a fit of hissing and rasping that sounded joyous in Draco's ears. His longing to end the reptile's life was so strong now he needed to clench his hands into fists not to grab his wand and be done with it.

Draco ripped his eyes off the face that the darkness and his own terrified mind had now turned into the cloaked and hooded figure of death itself. He felt the remnants of his childhood clinging desperately to his features at this of all moments; in less time than it had taken him to lose his boyhood, he had regressed to the level of some common brat being reprimanded for misbehaving.

"It was..." His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. "It was... unexpected, my Lord," he settled, at a loss for better words.

The snake hissed again at Draco's feet, twisting herself around his legs. The weight felt constricting, and it made Draco want to start kicking with his legs as hard as he could.

"You reek of guilt," the Dark Lord interpreted, his voice almost as toxic as Nagini's.

Draco could feel another drop of sweat gliding down his neck. "No!" he exclaimed, grabbing the armrests of the chair. "What I meant was...It was-"

A bright, red light slashed the surrounding darkness; it blinded Draco for an instant before disappearing into his flesh. From where it pierced his skin, the tissue that formed his body seemed to get ripped off his bones, lacerated piece by piece until only a bloody, unrecognisable mass would remain. The feeling spread to his back, his legs, his arms; Draco screamed, his shattered hands tried to shield him from the pain, still clinging to the impossible hope it might stop. The mutilation advanced to his eyes, burning needles passed through them and carried the pain with them inside his head. He cried. The pain became all the world had to offer, it would never stop, never cease, never lessen, and he would never die to be free from it, no matter how desperately he wished for it. And somewhere beyond it he heard an unbreakable chain of hissing in his ear.

When he emerged back into reality he found himself lying on the floor, Nagini's body wrapped around his. He jumped up, pushing the snake aside; she revealed her fangs in a fit of anger, but didn't bite without her master's command. Draco scrambled to his feet and sat down on the chair at once; his legs wouldn't carry his weight. Tears were still falling down his face. He wiped them away with his shaky hand, letting it fall uselessly down by his side. When he looked down he was surprised to see himself still in one piece.

Suddenly the room started spinning in front of Draco; the books barely visible on their shelves in the dim light blurred, the man in front of him disappeared and something else took his place. Flashes of his memories swam across Draco's eyes: a Quidditch match, swirls of green and silver chasing bronze and blue, a fresh, cool breeze hit his face and he could smell the trees of the Forbidden Forest; Arithmancy O.W.L.s, a long string of numbers on a piece of parchment and a sudden realisation of how to finish the equation; a sweltering midday promenade in the midst of grapevines whose neat rows carried on as far as the eye could see, the dusty red soil coloured the pale skin of his bare feet.

Like a veil had been drawn over his eyes, the real world returned to him, and the sweat that the last vision had raised on his forehead started to run down his left temple. He tried to hide the hysteria that made him sweep the room with his frantic gaze and wonder if the pain had made him mad.

"What's happening?" Draco gasped as soon as the room came back to his view. A part of him knew the answer even before the Dark Lord got a chance to tell him.

"People are eager to lie, Draco."

He raised his wand and pointed it at the boy again; the movement was barely detectable in the dark.

The room vanished again and more visions pierced Draco's consciousness: horses galloping through a misty forest following a pack of fox hounds, the vivid scarlet of the hunters' riding robes blurring with the speed; the taste of bergamot in the breakfast room, the tangy smell of a sliced grapefruit mixing with the flavour; Pansy tilting her head back as she laughed, almost spilling her fourth drink on the teal blue divan; Draco addressing his house mates after Vaisey's expulsion, the first-years exchanging bewildered glances; Tobias Pennock squirming on the floor, the grimy chain scraping the stones, the unbreakable screaming getting louder and louder...

"Please, my Lord," Draco pleaded as soon as the room sharpened in front of his eyes. "Please, if you would just let me explain-" Like summoned by a spell, the thoughts and memories he didn't want to reveal had started rising out of the back of his mind, sharp and accurate as if they'd happened only yesterday.

"Your words are unnecessary, Draco," the Dark Lord said. "Your actions are bound to speak louder."

For the third time the world of his past took over his present, and Draco shivered as he saw which of his memories the wizard could see. A cold breeze entered the room, cooling his neck and in his state of paranoia Draco knew it was Death literally breathing down his neck. He could feel it extending a long, bony finger and running it down his spine and across his shoulders; it felt almost like a caress, the loving admiration of an object you've decided to collect for your own. Beyond the visions Draco felt the darkness behind him condensing and becoming more alive by the second.

The moment the vision of his quarrel with Gray had passed, another curse had dug into his chest; his body was burning, flames peeled off his skin excruciatingly slowly, ravens of fire pecked his face, pulling out his eyes and his tongue. No amount or volume of screaming could describe the pain. The shadows were full of foul creatures with no name or shape his mind could recognise, but all their thoughts were turned on him, and they feasted on his suffering. He wished for death to collect him, for the pain to end and be replaced by anything, anything at all, but when the scavenging birds scattered and the attention of the fiends faltered and a bitter coldness cooled down the flames licking his body, the boundaries of Draco's mind closed in on him and he knew his worst fear was not to suffer but to not exist.

The darkness around him breathed in his ear, he heard distant sounds that grew fainter and fainter as his mind struggled to stay intact. His body grew heedless to the cold – soon, he felt nothing – and still there was no calm in his passing, no feeling of accomplishment about the things he'd done. His mind was painfully alert of the way he was being ripped from his existence, taken by force beyond the rightful realms of his life, thrown into a place that wasn't, to a time that wasn't, extinguished, forgotten, without existence. Little by little his consciousness dimmed, like candles in a room going out, one by one. A stabbing whisper slithered in his ear but there was no one left to understand it – no one left to ache for life.

The curse lifted so suddenly Draco felt a surge of sick move up to his oesophagus. The acids burned his throat as he made himself swallow hard. Disgust and relief battled for control over his body as Draco's mind fought to differentiate between what was and what had been. Shifting through his mind were the images he had registered as the last things he had adhered to in the unreality that he had gone through mere seconds before. He was panting heavily like he'd nearly escaped drowning and the dim light of the candle was piercingly bright to his eyes. He could still feel the revulsion he had suppressed and despite himself his eyes were filling with tears. Slowly he was taken over by the revelation of life's fragility.

When he noticed the Dark Lord's hand tightening its hold of his wand, Draco hurried around the table and threw himself at the wizard's feet, grabbing the hem of his coal-black robes with his aching hands. He could still feel the presence of the end all around him, circling him, reaching for his neck to impose its compelling hold over his life. He relived a flash of green as his eyes caught a glimpse of the wand that was still pointing at his throat.

"Please forgive me, my Lord," he sobbed, beside himself with the thought that everything around him, the domed ceiling, the lonely candle, the snake and the Dark Lord could disappear in the shortest of moments to be replaced by absolutely nothing, not even darkness, a thought of terror, or a world of pain. Everything that made up Draco's life, the good and the bad, would merely cease to exist. There was nothing that could ever frighten him more, absolutely nothing that could be as tormenting as feeling everything that was him gently ripped apart. "Forgive me my arrogance!" He raised the cloth to his mouth, still shaking like a leaf. He could feel an icy hand falling on his head almost soothingly; but the wand wasn't lowered. "I promise to be your most humble servant, my Lord. I promise anything you want!"

The hand on his platinum hair grew more rigid, but the man said nothing. Nagini slithered closer expectantly, like sensing some change in the air invisible to Draco's limited perception.

"I'll never let my arrogance get in the way of my service, my Lord," he hurried to vow, looking desperately at the harsh yet distant face above him. "I will never let myself think a task you grant me is beneath me. I swear on my life!"

The silence continued, barricading Draco's breath and making him shiver with the transcendental presence still caressing his neck. Finally the hand on his hair relaxed, and Nagini hissed disappointedly. Draco let out a weary sigh, freed at last from the icy grip.

"This pledge will be put to the test," the Dark Lord told him grimly. "Should you pass, your situation should also be re-evaluated."

"Thank you, my Lord," Draco exclaimed, pressing his forehead against the blissfully cool surface of the marble floor. His pride was broken, and he sensed this pleased the Dark Lord; not even the thought of displeasure for this potentially humiliating circumstance entered his mind, however. The man was merciful, Draco saw it now. "Thank you!" he repeated once more, getting to his feet but keeping his eyes on the floor.

The Dark Lord extended one long-fingered hand and placed it under Draco's chin, lifting his face to meet his; the grip was so tight it resembled pincers more than a human touch. No decipherable emotion could be seen on his features; the red eyes had grown dim with the passing anger.

"Should you fail," he said, his voice devoid of all sentiment, "you'll find my clemency does not extend to those I have no use for."

The hair on Draco's arms stood up with the chills that this monotonous statement set coursing through him. He couldn't avert his eyes, nor prevent his fear from showing.

"Of course, my Lord," he muttered submissively. "I understand."

The metallic clutch on his face loosened and disappeared.

"Go," the Dark Lord ordered indifferently. Draco turned on his heels, and exited the room.

He walked along the corridor, his mind empty of all thought, full of grey mist and a soft static. Down the stairs and into a parlour where the empty frames of portraits hung tastefully on the walls, reflecting Draco's thoughts with their lack of substance. He took a seat on one of the sofas.

Suddenly the clouds of the night sky grew thin, and like through a misty veil, a slip of moonlight fell on the side of the leather sofa, painting a lattice-window of shadows on the hardwood floor. Draco glanced at it, and the encounter rushed through his mind, leaving him gasping for breath. His body relaxed at long last and he leaned, sighing, on the backrest of the chesterfield, brushing his fingers through his hair. A quiet bark of laughter woke the attention of the only present occupant of the frames.

"What's there to laugh about?" said one of Draco's ancestors, as vigorously blond yet more robust man than Draco or his father. "All these strange people wandering around. In my house!"

"What's there to laugh about indeed. That's what I'd like to know."

Draco sat up, his brow knitting instantly as he saw Yaxley standing by the door. The adrenaline this sight sent pulsing through him made his head spin. He breathed so easily now, his limbs felt strong enough for anything and his eyes seemed to notice things that had never caught his attention before; the smallest details of the hand-carved furniture, the tiniest signs of use on the backs of the books on their shelves around the room, every aspect of Yaxley's appearance down to how long it had been since he'd last shaved his face.

"Your luck just won't run out will it?" the man snapped in annoyance, walking further into the room. Draco got up from the sofa; he didn't like having the man hovering over him like his superior. "I was hoping the bloody snake would've eaten you for supper but here you are."

Draco snorted. "It seems I'm bound to disappoint someone," he stated offhandedly, returning to his quiet confidence with the greatest of ease, "and quite frankly I'd rather it be you. See, your opinions and expectations are worth nothing to me."

Yaxley scoffed amusedly. "You hold on to you precious little life while it lasts," he advised. "Sooner or later you'll run into something your luck can't handle. And if you don't watch your back it might even be me."

The man turned back towards the door, hissing at the portrait before continuing his rant. Draco had pushed his hand in his pocket, and was now wrapping his fingers slowly around his wand.

"I heard even your useless mome of a father is joining the game," he went on, picking up something from a polished side table, weighing it disdainfully before putting it back, "and that no one cared to mention it to you. That says more than enough about how much your effort is valued here-"

The Stinging Jinx Draco had aimed for the back of Yaxley's head missed scarcely when the man turned to face him again. Instead it hit a vase of dried roses that exploded with a loud shatter.

Faster than Draco could see Yaxley had pulled out his own wand; his hasty Shield Charm barely blocked the curse the man had sent his way. His blood was now boiling with all the anger he had had to keep subdued, the insults to his family echoed in his mind. Ridiculing him was one thing, he would show Yaxley eventually, but slandering his parents crossed the line grossly. His blood was overflowing with adrenaline, and fighting the man made him feel so intoxicatingly alive. His wand cut the air, but Yaxley blocked his curses easily.

"You'll be sorry for starting this, boy!" the man shouted, his eyes bulging slightly. Three flashes of red light crossed the room, but two missed, disappearing inside the cold and empty fireplace. The third hit Draco's defences hard, forcing him to take a step back. The setting moon hit a mirror by the door on Yaxley's right, and before he could even guess at the success rate of his attempt, Draco had fired another Stinging Hex which bounced off the surface, leaving the looking-glass on the floor in pieces. Yaxley had turned instinctively to see what had caused the noise; the burst of white light hit the side of his face, which started to swell up immediately.

Yaxley screamed and raged, grabbing the part of his face the curse had injured; his right eye had already vanished behind the swollen flesh. Draco sneered, a self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. It faded before long, however, when Yaxley's next curse met his Shield Charm; the flash of light that had broken away from the tip of his wand had been bright green. The speed the man now acquired was impossible; more than once Draco escaped retaliation solely because he happened to side step at the right fraction of a second. His Shield Charms stayed strong, but Yaxley kept getting closer. He backed away, step at a time, almost falling over on another ornate side table. A curse hit the bookshelf behind him, filling the air with ripped paper.

Suddenly the man leapt towards him, throwing his wand on the floor and grabbing Draco's arm with both of his hands. The force of his muscles was staggering as he pointed Draco's hand away from him. After a feeble curse it fell on the floor as the strain on his elbow and shoulder became unbearable. Draco cried out in pain, fearing the man might break his arm; he certainly seemed able to. When he felt the hold on his limb weakening, Draco pulled back with all his strength, crouching down instantly to reach for his wand. This was a mistake; Yaxley's knee, aimed at his stomach, crashed into his chin and it threw Draco back on the floor. His teeth sunk into his lip and he could taste blood. The pain was hazing his mind.

Before he could get on his feet, Yaxley had grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him up. With an outraged roar he lifted the boy several inches off the ground and threw him violently against the bookshelf. Draco fell on the floor, shielding his head from the falling books. A large leather tome collided painfully with his left shoulder blade and another fell on his neck as his hand crawled across the floor, reaching for the wand he saw lying mere feet away. Before he could acquire it, a loud wheezing grunt came from above, and he saw Yaxley staggering backwards. The thick dusty velvet of the curtains had caught him by the throat and was half carrying, half dragging him across the room. His legs kicked aimlessly as he gasped for breath, pulling in vain at the strangling fabric, knocking over the furniture that got in his way. Turning toward the door Draco saw his father, looking scrawny and unkempt but pointing his wand at Yaxley with an unyielding look on his face. Snape was at his side, looking thoroughly uninterested, as usual. Draco grabbed his wand swiftly before getting up and walking to them.

Yaxley's swollen face had turned purple before the curtains unfolded. He fell on the floor, coughing and gagging with his hands on his throat, still struggling to breathe.

"How dare you behave like this in my house?" Lucius spat at the man with a look of pure revulsion on his face. "You lay your filthy hands on my son again and next time you won't be so lucky," he hissed lividly. His wand made an aggressive arch over the slouched figure, but instead of more harm falling on the man, the curtains merely returned to their previous positions by the window. The master of the house turned on his heels, and the two other men followed him. Out in the hall Draco swore he could hear a loud thud when Yaxley's fist met the floor. He caught up with his father's quick pace, but before he could utter a word, the man had addressed him.

"There will be no more of such episodes under my roof, Draco," the man expressed sternly without casting so much as a sideway glance at his son. "Understood?"

Draco gritted his teeth, the momentary joy of reunion melting into childish shame. "Yes, Father," he muttered unassertively. He could sense there were many things his father wanted to say but decided not to, perhaps because the list was too long for such an early hour of the day. They walked back to the study in silence that was full of the weight of things left unsaid.

"Use the fireplace in the library," his father said to Snape, still not turning his eyes on Draco as they reached the door to his office. The professor nodded without a word and led Draco away by the shoulder. Before they turned a corner, the boy glanced back, only to catch a glimpse of his father's robes disappearing through the door.

Snape and Draco didn't exchange so much as a good night as they returned to the school. He left the office in a hurry, dissolving into the wall for the way back to the common room. When he finally reached the dormitory, he was exhausted and distraught once more. The pain he had managed to ignore on his way back to the castle now returned and he wished he had had the sense to ask Snape for a potion to relieve the strain on his throbbing muscles. No potion would've helped him with the thought of his father, however; it was like a Stinging Jinx in his brain.

"Where've you been?" a low hushed voice asked as Draco was undressing to go to bed a second time.

"Go back to sleep, Crabbe," Draco murmured tiredly, pulling off his socks and crawling between the sheets, closing his eyes without delay.

"Yeh, I guess I should," Crabbe chuckled drowsily. "Or else Morbid Billy will get me."

Like a bucket full of water falling on him, something Draco had been trying to remember for weeks washed over him like a wave of recognition. That something that had been itching at the back of his mind had finally emerged on the surface to be examined after weeks of evading his every attempt.

"What did you say?" Draco gasped, sitting up in his bed and staring at Crabbe's sleepy face.

"Didn't you ever hear about him when you were a nipper?" the other boy asked, yawning as he turned to face Draco again.

"Something tells me I'm about to hear it now," Draco declared, suddenly feeling very much awake.


End file.
